Across Lands
by Aquarius Galuxy
Summary: When the threads of fate entangle a fortune teller and a samurai, lives and priorities are changed. An inevitable journey across the lands awaits, filled with hazards and defeat, along with a spontaneous attraction that deepens into something more.
1. Chapter 1

_Well here you have it. My first long piece of fiction in a long while... Since my Beyblade fics? That was about 5 years ago! Anyway, I think my storytelling skills might have grown rusty, and so has my plotting. (Not that I could plot well to begin with.)  
For those who are interested, this Power Stone fanfic can actually be treated like an original fic, because no prior knowledge of the characters nor anime is required. I'm explaining everything from scratch. :P  
Main genres of this fic is as follows: erotica, romance, then adventure/action. However, due to FFN's ratings and stuff, I've cut the most explicit stuff out, so, too bad about that. :P Not that there's much erotica in the first chapter, it starts later on in the fic. :P  
**Edit:** Great, huge, big THANKS to **Silver Warrior **for his help with the fight scene(s) in this fic!  
Anyway, Power Stone does not belong to me. I think it belongs to Capcom, but I'm not sure._

_**Update (12th Jul 2010): This fic is discontinued on FFN due to the amount of effort I have to put in to censor it. The actual version can be found on my LiveJournal, the link to which can be found on my profile. Thanks for reading!**_

* * *

Feet and metal-cast wheels alike slowed to a drag on cobblestone streets as the sun inched towards the zenith, casting proud rays onto the peaceful town. Had it been earlier in the morning or later in the day, when the weather was slightly more agreeable, one would find a variety of little stalls peppering the roads, where the townsfolk hawked their wares in the shade of low-rise buildings. This Sunland town, in particular, sat at the edge of the sea, inhaling salty breezes with each gust of wind. Its location had led to prosperity; the port bustled, and visitors hailed from all corners of the world.

The municipality consisted of a town square, paved with cobblestones circling an exquisite fountain. In the middle of the fountain stood a sculpted angel, hands meeting in a cusp, reaching forward, slender wings unfurling from slits in her marble dress. Sunlight glinted off the water trickling from her fingers, glimmering along smooth ripples at her feet.

There was a large tent to a side of this fountain that had not been around the day before. It resembled a circus tent, but was perhaps the size of a large room or two, made entirely out of royal purple cloth. It drew stares from passers-by, and one who was inquisitive enough would discover a solitary young woman in the semi-darkness within, sitting patiently at the far end of a circular table, her gaze straight and patient.

Rouge sighed, staring at the slit of the tent's entrance. It was the brightest part of the enclosed space - the only other source of illumination was the flickering flame at the spout of an ancient lamp, placed off-centre on the clothed table. Right before her was a crystal ball, misty and distorting light, reflecting the shine of the fire.

She was tired. The tent had only been set up mere hours ago. She had arrived in town late the evening before, and by then, all that could be done was to rent a room to put up in for the night. It had cost a fair amount of gold, which was hardly made up for by the slow increase in fortune-seekers visiting her tent. It was, however, fortunate that the two young lads ambling around before sunrise had extended their help for nothing in return, if only to aid a "pretty Miss".

At three-and-twenty, Rouge was a beauty, and she drew advantage from it. Few men could resist her almond-shaped face and large, dark grey eyes. Coupled with the exoticness of her mocha-toned body and lush curves in all the right places, she had got by with generous donations on far more than one occasion since her journey began. Granted, it was no mean feat surviving on the streets, but she had managed it thus far.

From town to town, Rouge would bring her tent with her. She worked in it, she lived in it. Sometimes it was too bulky a luggage to carry, which forced her to save up for a carriage if she needed to move.

In the previous village, another in Sunland, the fact that she wasn't local seemed to be a point of contention with the womenfolk there. Nothing had been said to her person, but it was strikingly obvious from the way their haughty gazes cast at her, that the amount of skin her clothing revealed deviated from the society's standards. Business with the villagers had been bad, save for the menfolk, and those who truly were interested in her talent. In this new place, she could only hope that the residents were more tolerant than their counterparts, especially with the large numbers of nationalities from the other lands.

The interior of the tent grew increasingly stuffy as it drew closer to noon. Rouge shifted in her high-backed seat, brushing at the droplets of sweat clinging to the nape of her neck. The heat was making her drowsy, and for a moment, as she stared at her crystal ball, it glowed.

Whatever life there was in her eyes fled. Her lids drooped, and her heart slowed. Images played out within the orb. She read them aloud to herself, not thinking.

"_Someone you meet at midday will change your life._"

As soon as they occurred, the images vanished into the murky light of the crystal ball. She blinked, mulling over the prediction. The readings she had done on herself were rare. Never had she initiated them on purpose, because it felt wrong abusing her power that way. Spontaneous foreshadows in her dreams, though, had occurred in the past. What did this indicate, and was she in danger?

Rouge took a deep breath and leaned back. Regardless of what it was, this was fated to occur. She would not be able to prevent the inevitable from happening.

For now, though, she wanted some ice cream. The persistent tinkle of an ice cream man's bell had started up, and was enticing in this weather. Her stomach was already working on the flavours she could have. Mm, ice cream.

* * *

Business never did seem to cease on a certain street in the Sunland town. While many shops were stored away come the heat of noon, the most tenacious of vendors reaped their profits beneath large umbrellas and roofs built of wooden planks. Amongst these were food stalls, and a decent crowd thronged the cobblestone road every mealtime, adding to the noise and colour of the busy street.

With each passing moment, more civilians and foreigners trailed into the thriving marketplace. One person, in particular, did not quite fit into the slow river of people he had joined, of pastel-coloured country dresses and pressed English suits.

He was a stocky man, tanned and solemn. Unkempt black hair was secured tightly at the back of his head with a length of cloth, angled upwards, leaving the very end bushy. Raven eyes darted around the crowd, wary and searching for danger. He had a stubby nose, that was maybe mismatched with a set jaw and an oval-shaped countenance. At times, it would surprise a stranger to know that he was only nineteen.

Where in another land, his dressing might have been a common sight, the dull navy suit consisting of a _kimono_ top and baggy trousers, or _hakama_, as well as a sand-coloured vest, open at the chest and frayed at the armholes, hardly melded into the crowd. A white spiral adorned either sleeve, striking against dark blue. It was representative of his _dojo_, where he had apprenticed for many years prior.

Upon closer inspection, one would notice the greyed bands wound around his wrists, extending up his strong forearms and beneath his sleeves, each holding down a metal plate to protect the backs of his hands. As with his arms, his calves had been bound with the same greyish cloth, from the hems of his _hakama_ to just above his ankles. Dull navy socks covered his feet, toes divided for ease of fitting into his straw slippers.

What was equally as striking, however, might have been the pair of swords he carried on his person - the longer one, a _katana_, sheathed in a deep red scabbard, slung horizontally behind his abdomen, and the shorter, a _a wakizashi_, black-sheathed, hanging from a sash by his waist. At times, it would surprise a stranger to know that he was only at the age of nineteen.

Ryoma followed the stream of townsfolk, taking languid steps after a satisfying meal of noodles and meat. It was his personal quote, that "an empty stomach was a warrior's worst enemy". There had been times when food had been at a shortage; he had not relished them.

He ran errands on his travels, in part for his training, and in part for his sustenance. As a samurai, he travelled light - all his possessions fitted into a forest green cloth, tied snugly across his back. Most times, he had even forgotten about its presence, only remembering when he needed a bath.

There had been little choice but to leave the small town in Moonland, which had been his home for years. His _sensei_, Akudo Kanema, was a great man - strong, wise, and a true master of the sword. It was his _sensei_ who brought him up as a man and a samurai, instilling the code of ethics in him that he was so proud of now. It was also Akudo Kanema who had bestowed upon him the two swords in his possession, and taught him to become one with them.

_Sensei_'s wisdom had likened the town to a flowerpot. He had told Ryoma that if he wanted to grow as a warrior, there was no way he could continue to stay in Moonland. Instead, he would have to journey far and wide, fighting people stronger than himself and learning from them.

Thus, Ryoma had found himself travelling in Goldland and Silverland these past two years. He had lost battles there, learnt, and fought them again to win. As far as possible, Ryoma kept strictly to his training. Not once had he stopped to admire a pretty girl, nor lose himself in alcohol after a loss. Failure was an opportunity to learn, and he seized every chance available.

So focused was he on his teacher and training that his ears perked at the loud mention of "Akudo Dojo".

"The old man there is pathetic. He thinks he's so good, hiding in that _dojo_ of his all day long." The drawl was callous and tinted with a Moonland accent.

Ryoma's eyes widened, then narrowed, indignance rumbling in his chest. There was no way Akudo Kanema was pathetic! He did not hide, and he most certainly did not think he was good. He _knew_ he was a master, but that never did prevent him from being humble. And no one dared to underestimate his _sensei_! Coils of anger were swirling around his middle. His heart thumped at him to make that man swallow his words, and clear his mentor's name.

He tiptoed and peered over the crowd, eyes scanning over bare heads and bonnets, left hand instinctively tightening around the ebony sheath of his _wakizashi_.

Not too far away, with about six people between them, was a tall man, black hair done up like Ryoma's. He had a few thin locks of chin-length bangs curving over his face, with the rest tied up into a long brush at the back of his head. Contrary to the samurai, he was far paler, and wore a simple red _kimono_. From Ryoma's position, the man looked to have an eagle-like face, with beady black eyes and a hooked nose. No weapons could be seen from his vantage point. He was positive, however, that they were similar to his, slung low at the waist.

"Tsurugi Akira, you're going to have something coming to you, with all that slander you throw around," his companion chuckled audibly, a vague shape hidden by the growing crowd.

"Damn right you are," Ryoma wanted to snarl, but the flow of people was thickening, and they were starting to shove. There appeared to be a crowd gathering on the street a little distance away, around a group of performers garbed in bright costumes.

"Bring 'em! Are you saying I can't handle them?" the red-clothed man retorted in mockery. "I'll bet that Akudo guy is just a fraud!"

The restraint in Ryoma snapped. His brows drew into a frown.

No one - absolutely no one - tainted the reputation of the great man his _sensei_ was, and got away with it. He would face the man off and bring him to his knees in defeat. Restless heat thrummed through his veins, and he pushed through the crowd, trying to reach that disrespectful Moonlander, shouting, "Hey, you!"

At that moment, the group to the side started to play, a cacophony of loud bugles and string instruments that easily drowned out his yell. Growling in frustration, he tried again, this time as loudly as he could muster. "Hey you, man-in-red! I challenge you to a fight, and I'll show you how good the Akudo Dojo really is!"

Those around him turned and glared, shushing him. A knobbly finger prodded his back roughly, accompanied by a strained, impatient voice that undeniably belonged to an old lady. "Keep your voice down, young man! There are those of us here who are trying to enjoy good music!"

Good music? Anger and manners waged a quick war within him. The latter won, and he turned, highly unwillingly, bowing quickly to the elderly female. "I'm sorry."

"That's more like it," she cackled, and he whipped back to locate the Moonland fighter, the thudding in his chest protesting at every wasted second. His eyes flitted over the bobbing heads. The man had disappeared.

Ryoma cursed, clenching his fists. The crowd started to thin towards the end of the street, which he was thankful for. Not only had that red-dressed man insulted his mentor, he had vanished from beneath his nose! Taking deep breaths to calm himself, the samurai stalked away from the market place, realising that he had stepped into the town square. The area was large and open, but again, a quick survey of the landscape told him that his quarry had slipped away.

With how new he was to the town, it might take days to hunt the man down and clear his _sensei_'s name. But no matter how long it entailed, his loyalty to the Akudo Dojo never wavered, and he swore that he would see it to the end.

"Where could that guy have gone?" he muttered to himself.

It was a while before his hackles settled, and another while before he realised that there was a purple tent in the square that had not been there the day before. Chances of the man being inside were low, but for some reason, he found his feet stepping towards the marquee. Perhaps it was the lulling rhythm of the ice cream bell in the heat of the day.

"Looking for somebody?"

This new voice was low and sultry, and he turned to face its owner, in the hopes of receiving information about the Moonlander. The sight that met his eyes, however, was nothing he was prepared for.

A tall woman, mocha-skinned and barely shorter than him, stood three yards away. The first thing he noticed was how pretty she was - a single, large grey eye stared straight at him, its counterpart hidden beneath a shiny lock of hair that covered half her almond-shaped face. She wore a deep pink lipstick that would seem garish on a paler woman, but fitted her perfectly fine. A white sash of cloth held her hair back, fastened together by a gold-rimmed amethyst. More chocolate-brown hair was coiled neatly on her head, bound by a large golden band, while the rest wove into a long braid that fell past her hips, attached to a golden bangle right at the end.

He could not help but allow his eyes to coast down her body, barely noting the purple collar-like garment that begun at her throat and swept down the upper portion of her chest, with a slit down the middle for removal, edged with gold, its base hovering inches above her cleavage, sweeping in arcs down to either sides of her breasts.

Her breasts... The two gold-embroidered crescent moons on each side of the collar-garment were lost to him as he stared at her perfect twin globes, barely covered in a white strapless bra that functioned as a top, and left little to his imagination. A spark of heat started to grow and pool in his middle, as his eyes continued down her bare midriff, lingering at the depression of her navel, and then further to the downward-curving hem of her baggy purple pants, fuchsia-hemmed, starting high on her hips and dipping all the way down, to where he was almost too embarrassed to look at. The material ended where her crotch probably was, masked by a gold metal heart.

His loincloth was suddenly too tight; he could feel the fullness at his groin, and he remembered his manners, tearing his eyes down the rest of her pants, where the bottom hems drew together at her ankles, to create puffy pant legs. Heat rose to his cheeks. It was no surprise that her slippers were purple, either.

Sunlight glinted off her triangular gold earrings, and he parted his lips to apologise, but no words emerged. He was also vaguely aware of the thick white bands of cloth around her slim forearms, lined with gold at the edges as well. In one hand, she held an ice cream cone, heaped with four different flavours of the sticky treat.

"You're looking for someone, aren't you?" she continued in that sensuous tone, which only seemed to aggravate the heat swirling in his loins.

It took seconds for him to process her speech, so that curiosity arose at her knowledge. "Yeah, but how did you know that?"

She took a long lick of her ice cream, eyelids hooded, pressing the tip of her tongue against the side of her dessert and lapping it all the way up to the top, slurping audibly. For all the years that he had suppressed any carnal thoughts, this action of hers broke his fences. He could almost imagine her right before him, with that expression on her countenance, noisily slurping at...

"It's my business to know. I tell fortunes, I know where the man you seek is, and how you can find him." She appeared nonchalant, or at the very most, enjoying his attention, flushed and hard as he was.

Some semblance of coherence returned. Through the lusty fog in his mind, he remembered the man in red, and how there seemed to be no easy way to locate him. "D-do you really know?"

The woman took another languid slurp of her dessert, gathering coloured cream on her tongue and swallowing it in obvious enjoyment, licking her lips. He wished she would stop. At least she couldn't see the extent to which he was affected, baggy as his trousers were. Her pink lips twitched upwards in a saucy grin as she looked him over. "There's a price to be paid for finding the man. It's quite a high price - it's anything I want."

There seemed to be an obvious risk he was missing, but he was too keen on shrugging away his arousal and finding the man who tarnished his mentor's reputation to care. If this fortune teller could point him in the right direction, he would be grateful to her. Besides, something told him that she wasn't quite after his gold. He nodded. "Sure, I'll take the offer."

"Would you like to wait inside while I finish this?" The woman gestured at her melting ice cream, and he nodded, glancing over the tent for an opening, until she pulled some purple cloth aside, watching him with her single eye. He squirmed in his step.

The interior of the tent was a welcome shade from the overhead sun. He paused right after entering, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. A single flame flickered on the table, which seemed to be draped with an intricately-patterned yellow cloth.

He took the seat closer to the door, looking up at the reddish cloth decorating the upper circumference of the enclosed space. That girl spent the whole day in here? Well, aside from licking her ice cream, that was. Ryoma fidgeted as the memory of the fortune teller and her dessert played around in his mind, trying to force it out, while wondering at the same time if she was done. She was a hindrance to his training without even trying to be, and he would do well to steer clear of her in the future.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, she breezed in, slipping into her high-backed seat across the table.

The samurai blinked. She was even more beautiful up close. Her lips glistened in what little illumination there was. Before he could dwell any longer on her features, he forced his gaze away, craning his head up to examine the roof of the tent. The automatic chant started in his mind - he was a warrior in training, and he had absolutely no time for pretty girls.

She made no sound as she sat patiently and watched him, the sole visible eye unblinking. Discomfort crept into his nerves, and he brought his gaze back down to hers, albeit reluctantly, neck stiff. It was another awkward pause before he recalled his purpose here. "So, you mean to say, you can really sit there and tell me where that warrior is now?"

The woman drew a glass-like ball close to herself, that he had not noticed before. He stared at it, wondering how a stone like that could possibly have the answer to his question. In fact, this was starting to feel a little absurd.

"And now, my crystal ball will reveal all," she murmured in that silken voice, looking down into the misty depths of the ball, holding her palms at the sides of its curved surface.

"In that rock?" he let slip, following her gaze and waiting for pictures to form within.

"It is not a rock, it's a mystic crystal ball!" she snapped, looking sharply at him.

For a moment there, her gaze was so threatening that he drew back slightly, surprised. The manners his mother and _sensei_ had ingrained into him rose to the surface then, and he bowed, looking down at the table. "If I have offended you, I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Rouge blinked, and blinked again, surprised. It was the first time anyone had apologised this formally to her, over such a small matter. The man still had his head inclined, awaiting her word. It made her feel important, and the fact that it resulted from such a trivial issue tickled her, drawing a low chuckle from her lips. "A rock, huh?"

Her mouth twitched in a smile, and she softened, watching as he lifted his gaze. So this was the man destined to change her life? She found herself rather pleased with him. "First, I must see what kind of man you are, and what lies deep within your heart."

"My heart?" He appeared a little confused, but shrugged it off. "Well, what do you see?"

Ryoma looked on when she dipped her head again, focusing on the crystal ball. The area around them seemed to darken, and the ball glowed a slight blue, that reflected off the smooth contours of her bra, deepened her cleavage. He forcibly ignored that.

"_I see a white stream, a stream within a stream... And deep within your heart, you love..._ laundry?" Her voice rose at the last word, laced with incredulity.

"'Laundry'?" he echoed, peering at the glowing ball in an attempt to decipher her odd reading. Ryoma was never one for washing to that extent, though thinking back on his past, the times when there had been a lot of cloth and water was when he was back in Moonland, building up his endurance beneath a waterfall. And then it clicked. "Oh! That's part of my training!"

"Oh!" she uttered, transfixed by the image in her crystal ball. The white stream had turned out to be a length of white cloth extending downwards from his abdomen, tied to a string around his hips. Apart from the strange garment, he was otherwise standing naked beneath a waterfall, feet apart, hands clenched together in front of his face, eyes closed. "That's a weird way to train."

Rouge allowed herself to linger on the image of his semi-bare body, admiring the hard muscles, and almost venturing behind that exceedingly long piece of loincloth, before moving on to the next image, of the man making clean slices through a bamboo forest. It appeared that he was truly serious about his profession, working at building his skills, and finally setting sail away from his homeland. "_I also see that you are a swordsman. When you finished your training, you left your sanctuary in pursuit of greater challenges._"

The interior of the tent brightened to what it was previously. Rouge looked up from her crystal ball, at the young man sitting across the table. "You see, the orb knows all."

He was solemn. A frown creased his forehead at her words. "And me, I know nothing at all. All I know is the sword."

The sword, hmm? On one hand, he could have referred to his single-minded determination to train and work that body of his. On the other hand, he could have meant the _other_ sword, the one utilised in bed. It was unlikely, but far from repulsive. And both choices were very appealing. Rouge propped her elbows on the table, linking her fingers and resting her chin on them, laughing softly. "You know, that's very attractive."

"P-please, don't tease me like that!"

She watched as his eyes widened, cheeks colouring, doubting that he even realised he was leaning away. Her chest warmed. This coyness kindled her interest like foals prancing beneath a leopard's nose, and she leaned forward, decidedly interested in this samurai who was reluctant to commit.

"I love shyness in a strong man," she murmured, covering his large, warm hand with hers. The contact bred a light hunger in her that made her want to draw caresses up his arm.

"Don't! Stop! I-I'm in training, my sword's the only thing I'll ever hold!" He looked at her in panic, squirming, as if afraid that she might pin him to the ground and sully him. Which, all things considered, didn't sound like a bad idea. Rouge released his hand anyway, casting him a harmless smile. There would always be other chances to take this further. "Well, if I can help in _any_ way..."

The samurai relaxed then, the flush across his cheeks fading as he looked down at the table, thinking back. "When I arrived here, I came across this fighter who called my _sensei_ names that he didn't deserve... and it's the same guy that I'm looking for."

She rested her weight on her elbows, watching him, observing the set jaw and the tuft of black hair tied behind his head. "A fighter, huh?"

"Yeah. He's pretty tall, dressed in red, and his hair is kind of like mine." He tried to gesture with his hands, to estimate the man's height and appearance. "He dresses like me, and I think he might be a pretty good swordsman."

"Do you know his name?" she probed, glancing down into her crystal ball. "Any names, nicknames..."

He touched his chin with his hand, rubbing it, lost in thought for a while. "Hmm... oh! Yes, I think there was one. I overheard someone calling him 'Tsurugi Akira'."

She focused, thinking about the name, and concentrating on her crystal ball. It started to glow, and she saw an eagle-faced man, walking alone, armed with swords, crossing a large stone bridge. The light faded, and she looked up from her crystal ball, into the anxious eyes of the young samurai. "The man called Tsurugi Akira is walking along the stone bridge at the mouth of the river. If you go now, you might be able to catch him."

He was on his feet in seconds. One hand resting on his sword, he looked at her. "Thank you. What do I owe you for this?"

She blinked. It had cleanly slipped her mind that she was doing a business deal with him, so enjoyable had their time together been. Her lips curved in an alluring smile. "Just tell me your name, and drop by when you're free. This reading was on the house."

"My name is Ryoma." He bowed, cheeks colouring slightly. "It's been a pleasure meeting you."

Rouge propped her chin on her hands, watching as he sped out of her tent in search of his quarry, whoever that was. This man had turned out far more intriguing than her expectations had been, and she liked that he had tried to resist her charms. It was obvious that he had been very much affected, however, to the extent that he struggled to keep his interest under control. Part of her wanted to see how far she could wrestle that control from him.

Ryoma. She rolled that name on her tongue, smiling to herself. When would they next meet?

The tent entrance was swept aside suddenly, a blond head extending into the enclosed space.

Rouge looked up, interrupted from her thoughts. It looked to belong to a man, his sky-blue irises catching sunlight. From her seat, she could see flight goggles riding atop his thick straw-coloured hair, and a bulky suit covering the rest of his body. "Do you want to know the future? If so, step right in."

He squinted at her for a moment, recognition flashing across his eyes. "I know who you are! You're that fortune teller, Rouge, aren't you?"

Surprise caught her for the second time in such a short span. It wasn't common for people to recognise her, especially when it was her first day in the town. Had he seen her elsewhere? Not missing a beat, she turned away, avoiding his gaze. "And what if I am?"

"I want you to look at something." He made his way in, heavy boots thumping on the ground. Thick leather gloves covered his hands and forearms, and various badges were sewn onto his red pilot's attire, complete with a white cloth extending from his neckline. On either side of his sleeves were blue flags, crossed with white.

"Oh?" Requests for her to examine objects were few and far between. Did he bring a treasure of some sort? She looked him over, wondering at the number of young men seeming to drop by her tent all at once. This one appeared to be a little more forward than the samurai, piquing her curiosity.

He took the seat where Ryoma had been, facing to a side, fishing around in his jacket to produce a rock. "What do you think of this stone? My father gave it to me."

She accepted it, twisting the heavy palm-sized object between her fingers. "This is a very interesting stone. Name?"

"You kiddin'? Stones don't have names," he answered, raising an eyebrow, as if she was asking the most obvious question in the world.

"What's your name?" she rephrased, inwardly sighing. It was starting to appear that neither of these men had any basic knowledge of fortune telling.

"Oh, I see. Edward Falcon."

Rouge drew the crystal ball to herself, hovering her hands above it. The crystal glowed again. She found herself sinking into the blurred images within. Each reading brought new challenges, and she looked forward to deciphering what she read. "_I see your future in the heart of this stone..._"

"Yeah, right, my future's inside a stone," he drawled, propping his cheek on a gloved hand.

The spark of irritation flared in her middle. "Keep silent!" He stared at her in shock, unknowingly calming her nerves. "That's better." In the silence he thankfully contributed to, she continued with the reading. "_I see that you'll cross land, sea and air, and be transformed by the many challenges that await. And I also see danger, pursuit and defeat._"

"'Defeat'? Don't say that!" he interjected, disbelieving. Then he leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, eyeing her. "Well, enough about that stone. Tell me, do you see any _love_ in that crystal ball?"

She kept her distance, a laugh bubbling from her lips. It was starting to appear that he was yet another of those men she had come across when his attention slipped past her chin, to her chest. She cleared her throat, drawing his eyes back to her face. "I can't foretell that far into the future."

Falcon looked disgruntled at her response, his lips pulling to a side, but did not press the issue. At length, he finally stood, flashing her a friendly smile and a wave, seeming to fill the tent with his height. "Well, thanks for that anyway, Rouge. What do I owe you for this?"

"What about a meal of some sort in the future?" she offered, returning the smile. This would not be his only visit, she could guess, and it might as well be for something practical.

"You can count on it, Rouge!" Falcon responded brightly, whistling on his way out.

She watched the tent flaps swish back into place, before gazing back into her crystal ball, her mind drifting back to laundry and a samurai.

* * *

Sprinting at his fastest was something Ryoma did not usually do. He took a detour past the crowded street, dodging into alleyways and tearing down empty roads, heading for the wide stone bridge he remembered seeing two days ago. His feet scarcely felt the strain of travel - fifteen minutes of pure running was far from strenuous. By the time the bridge was within sight, he was only breathing hard, ready for more.

The stone bridge was wide and sturdy, large enough for three carriages to drive abreast. Like the town square, it was built of cobblestones, surface worn smooth by decades of pedestrians. Beyond the bridge were the glittering sea and the horizon. At this time of the day, people who made their way across the bridge were rare; most chose to do it when the sun was further down in the sky.

There was a lone figure slowly traversing the overpass. Ryoma swerved in that direction to meet the warrior head-on, running at full speed towards him, only halting when they were yards from each other. He drew a long piece of black string from the folds of his _kimono_, swiftly tying his sleeves up to prevent them from being a hindrance.

Tsurugi paused and merely looked at him, sizing up his ability from where he stood.

He was taller than Ryoma by a full head, and slimmer. The blood-red _kimono_ top he wore was neat and secured at the waist by a white sash, leading down to a similar-coloured _hakama_, and red socks in straw sandals. Like Ryoma, he carried two swords of differing lengths, both sheathed in reddish-brown scabbards. Black, beady eyes regarded the shorter man evenly.

Ryoma matched his stare, taking slow inhalations to regulate his breathing. Tsurugi had not moved, but his posture and confidence spoke volumes of his skill. This man was a master of the sword as well. Vaguely, he wondered which _dojo_ the man had trained at, and whether he, himself, had fought anyone from the same school.

A light breeze caressed his cheek, and he remembered why he was here. His _sensei_ had done too much for him to let an obvious insult slip. Righteous anger roiled in his middle, and he clenched his fists, breathing deeply.

"I am Ryoma, Akudo Kanema's pupil, and I challenge you to a fight, Tsurugi! I'll show you that the Akudo Dojo isn't a fraud!" Ryoma shouted, drawing his shorter sword, the _wakizashi_, gripping it with both hands. His eyes narrowed.

"Very well." Tsurugi smirked, unsheathing his own sword, holding it up before himself. "We'll see if a so-called pupil of that tired old man is any good."

Another swell of fury rushed into his chest. How dare the man speak of his _sensei_ with such carelessness? Fingers tightening around the cloth-bound hilt, he sprang forward, straw slippers pressing into stone to propel himself further, aiming the tip of his sword at Tsurugi's heart. As he had expected, the taller swordsman parried the thrust easily with his own _wakizashi_, sidestepping to let Ryoma pass.

He skidded to a stop and turned, eyes widening when Tsurugi appeared behind him faster than he had predicted, barely bringing up his sword in time to block a downward chop from a streak of metal. The resounding clang rang in his ears. Tsurugi used his height to his benefit, adding great leverage to the downward pressure, forcing Ryoma to one knee. His muscles strained as he pushed his weapon up against that razor-sharp edge.

Grunting with exertion, he shifted his weight to the left, knocking Tsurugi aside and off-balance, to the ground. In the short lapse of time his action bought, Ryoma leaped to his feet, bringing his sword down at the red-dressed swordsman in vicious slashes, his blade whistling in the air, only for the latter to roll out of the way of each strike. His heart beat a quick staccato with the adrenaline in his veins.

Tsurugi rolled to his feet, eyeing the samurai. He repositioned his hands on the hilt of his _wakizashi_. The kid was good - that much was obvious. But he did also seem borderline crazed where it came to avenging his teacher for such mild insults. Parrying a blow, he stepped back, avoiding each slice as it came, moving down the bridge in skips and steps, and occasionally delivering a blow that was shielded against in return. This younger swordsman was skilled, dangerously so. Tsurugi was, however, lacking the mood to fight.

As they reached the edge of the bridge, Ryoma was still on the offense, snarling with each thwarted blow. Tsurugi performed a quick sidestep at the last moment. The shorter man was a blur as he sped forward and hit loose gravel where the bridge ended, momentarily freezing when he lost his footing. Tsurugi twisted and delivered a sharp kick to the back of his knee, sending him sprawling into the ground.

The next thing Ryoma knew, Tsurugi's _wakizashi_ was gleaming next to his throat. His breath tore between his teeth as he turned, tracing the sword up its wielder's arm with his gaze, to the shadowed face against the too-bright sky. Shock and disappointment sealed his throat.

Tsurugi laughed, a cold dry laugh, lifting his sword and slowly sliding it back into its sheath with a metallic hiss. Ryoma clenched his jaw, bereft of words. He had naught to say; Tsurugi had no _need_ to say anything, merely leaving the defeat hanging in the air as he turned and walked back where they came from, his footsteps fading in the zephyr.

Ryoma clenched his eyes shut, grinding his teeth as he hung his head, ignoring the sharp press of gravel edges into his palms and fingers. The loss had been a clear indication that his skill was inferior, and he had tarnished his _sensei_'s name with it.

He cursed himself bitterly, not moving from his position as the sun shone down on him, breeding droplets of sweat on his skin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: **_Kinda few hits for this story, but I was expecting that. :P Hopefully I haven't chased off what few readers I have. Reviews are always appreciated!_

* * *

_There was a man in red standing before him. It was dark all around, and there was no one else, just the man and himself. For some reason, the man looked familiar. Beady black eyes and a pointed nose, rather like an eagle. Wait - there were swords at his side. He was a warrior too! Since he was a swordsman, they should fight. He needed to win, and be the best samurai out there. The man seemed to be thinking the same._

_He fumbled for his swords. Too slow, too slow. He needed to be faster. It nagged at his mind that he knew the man's name, that they had met before. The man drew his sword, and it caught light, glinting coldly at him. His fingers found the cloth-bound hilt of his_ wakizashi_, and he unsheathed it with a metallic hiss, gripping it with his hands. The man stared him down, blade at the ready. He waited for his opponent to make the first move. There was no wind, no light, but he saw the man in red clearly as if there was._

Tsurugi.

_What?_

Tsurugi.

His name is Tsurugi_, the voice said in his mind. What did he need to know that for? The man started to charge forward, and he tried to move his arms for a parry. His limbs were heavy. Why could he not move? He heard the clang of their swords, knew he had shielded himself just in time. Tsurugi had backed away, and he stepped forward to strike._

_The blackness around lightened suddenly, to bright daylight and a town square. His feet were stepping on cobblestones, and he realised that there was a crowd around them, watching. But Tsurugi seemed oblivious to the people, and as he prepared to strike at the man's side, there was a flash of metal and light. He found his sword slipping from his fingers, skidding on the uneven stone ground. A shard of panic wound itself into his chest. A samurai was nothing without his sword._

_He saw the fortune teller in the crowd, a meld of purple and white, her eye wide with horror, and the distinct burden of failure weighed down upon his chest. She had been counting on him to win. Why he was so affected by her disappointment, he did not know. All he knew was that Tsurugi was laughing at him, that he had lost, that the crowd had witnessed his failure, and he had let the fortune teller with the large grey eye down. He cursed, falling to his knees. He knew he had to try again, but Tsurugi was disappearing into the crowd, and his strength had left him._

_There were warm hands on his cheeks all of a sudden, slow fingertips trailing over his jaw. He shivered and looked up, seeing a woman before him, her face veiled by her hair. She stepped closer, pressing her body to his, and it was then that he realised she was naked, that she was rubbing her breasts into his covered chest._

_Stop, he wanted to tell her, discomfort lacing his mind. It seemed that neither the woman nor his body would cooperate, however, when she started to push his vest and top aside, stroking his chest with slender fingers. His eyes fell to her round breasts. They plumped up when she pushed them together, and he felt that familiar fullness building up in his loins. She seemed to know his body's reaction, even as he mouthed the words, I am a samurai, I don't have the time for this._

_It was almost as if she replied, but your body wants this, when she leaned in to suck on his earlobe, a firm hand reaching between his legs and cupping his crotch, rubbing his growing length through his clothes. Pleasure throbbed slowly beneath her digits._

_No, don't touch that, he wanted to protest, but his lips had sealed shut, and his body jerked into her palm. She pushed her soft breasts against his chest, pink lips twisting in a seductive smirk, and it was all he could do not to groan and succumb. She reached into his trousers, even as he drew away. A sharp gasp crossed his lips, embarrassment filling his veins at the feel of her fingers right against his intimate flesh._

_Stop, he wanted to moan. She freed him from his clothes, obvious delight dancing on her lips. Her fingers slid over his skin. He dared not look, even as need got the better of him._

* * *

Dawn over the little Sunland town three days later was a cool, crisp affair. Occasional lilting birdcalls welcomed the rising sun, swathed in purple-grey clouds as it coloured the sky a medley of salmon-pink and lavender. Horse-drawn carriages rumbled along the streets, narrowly avoiding the bargaining womenfolk at times as they argued over the prices of vegetables.

Ryoma strode through the town square, skirting around makeshift stalls hawking the freshest fruits, barely heeding the bright voices as they peddled their farms' produce. A spray of crumbs showered to his left, and he stepped hurriedly away, as flocks of pigeons descended onto the cobblestones, pecking at the morsels of food. For some reason, his feet had chosen this path today, deviating from the usual route he took between his rented room and the forest he trained at.

Speaking of training... His forehead creased when he recalled his embarrassing defeat a few days ago, filled with anger towards himself. He had stepped up his daily routine since, extending the length of his runs by two, and practising with his swords more vigorously than ever. Aside from time off to run his errands, as well as for food, he mostly remained among the trees, working at his stamina and skill. There was no way he was losing to that uncouth man again.

So engrossed was he in thought that Ryoma missed the large purple tent to his side, staring at the smooth cobblestones as he walked. Would his training prepare him for the next time he duelled with Tsurugi? Perhaps he needed some kind of a plan. That man dodged most of his strikes with ease, and the only way to counter that was probably to increase his speed. Maybe he needed to train overnight, too.

"What are you doing here this early, Ryoma?" The familiar, rich voice cut into his thoughts, seeming to glide into his ears.

Not quite paying heed to the low note of warning in his mind, he paused mid-step, turning to locate his owner. And immediately regretted doing so.

She was standing by her tent entrance, adjusting something at the back of her head, in an action that required both arms to be lifted, chest pushed forwards, accentuating the curves of her white-clad breasts. He swallowed and stared, dread creeping along his spine. The voice in his head reminded him, very unhelpfully, that he was the one who was determined not to cross her path again. He continued to stare.

The fortune teller stepped forward, her hands dropping to her sides, hardly giving an indication of whether she had noticed. He bit his lip and dragged his eyes up to her face, repeatedly reminding himself that he had no time to waste lingering around. Tsurugi had to be defeated. That new train of thought helped to clear his mind, and he exhaled the lungful of air caught in his chest.

"You haven't replied," she murmured, pausing in front of him, her large grey eye narrowing in mirth. He squirmed at the proximity, at how the depth of her cleavage was far more obvious when she was a foot before him. "Cat got your tongue?"

"N-no," he started, blinking, trying to shift away imperceptibly. It took some time to coordinate his thoughts, to come up with the fastest way he could leave this place. Her gaze was starting to make him fidget again. "I'm just about to head off for my training."

She inclined her head, watching him in thought. "Have you had your breakfast?"

Ryoma blinked quickly, surprised at her concern. It could be that she was truly curious, though she could also be planning to feed him poisoned food. Her benign smile rather pointed to the former. He shifted on his feet. "Yes, I have, thanks. I do also have to train though, Miss."

Her full lips pushed into a pout in pretense, glistening gold in the sunrise. He stared at them and wondered how they felt like, before catching himself. There wasn't much time to waste if he wanted to serve Tsurugi defeat. The woman tucked her hands behind her back, watching him in interest. "You did say you'd drop by some time, _Ryoma_."

He swallowed hard. The way she almost purred his name made him feel as though they were the most intimate of lovers, and in that moment, as their gazes locked, it felt as though he already knew every inch of her body. His heart quickened; he flushed nervously, not meaning to have somehow intruded, even as he blood heated up. She gave no sign of knowing, her pink lips curving in a small smile. And no matter how much he wanted to leave, he found himself agreeing, "I guess I can, but only for a short while!"

He reasoned that he could not break his word.

The smile that crossed her lips was, by far, the prettiest he had ever seen. Ryoma watched as she turned, the v-tailed collar-garment whispering behind her back, its gold edges glinting in the sunlight. Her hips swayed with each step she took, and he had to remind himself not to stare. Samurai did not ogle shapely female rumps, regardless of how tempting they were. He clenched his fists as a distraction and followed her in.

"So, how have you been these past few days?" she asked once he was seated, resting her chin on her palm and gazing at him. "I haven't seen you around in ages."

He was quickly becoming accustomed to the semi-darkness of the tent, watching the flicker of the tiny flame on the table. She remained looking at him, the dancing fire reflected in her large eye. Recollections of his training returned to his mind first, followed by the loss to Tsurugi. It gnawed on his nerves as he remembered his swift defeat, irritation growing in his chest. Despite the large amounts of time he had been training for, there was this nagging doubt that he still wasn't fast enough, nor more superiorly-skilled to defeat his opponent. Ryoma sighed in frustration, tapping his straw-slippered foot on the ground. "I lost to Tsurugi that day, and it's bugging me, because no matter how hard I train, I still can't get any better than him!"

She stared at him in thought, leaning forward by a fraction, the warm glow of firelight seeming to caress her skin. "It's simple, then, don't train. Why don't you learn to loosen up a bit? There's more to life than training. Learn to live a little."

What? The lulling effect of her sultry voice was lost on him as he stared at her, trying to comprehend why she had said that. Had she not seen his past in her crystal ball, and did she not know his motivations? He crossed his arms. "What are you saying? You may not realise it, but I have sacrificed everything to come here and train!"

"Yeah, that may be so... but has all this training made you happy?" She propped both elbows on the table, cupping her cheeks. It was as if she was skeptical about what he did as a samurai, as though the amount of work required for his profession was not worth the while.

"I'm learning to overcome my weaknesses and become the ultimate swordsman. No one said anything about being _happy_."

"Did you say, 'overcome your weaknesses'? Hmm..." Before he knew it, she had drawn back, lowering her eyes to the crystal ball before her, that he had once again managed to miss. As she had done the previous time, the woman brought her hands around the shiny orb, focusing her attention on it till it began to glow blue, her eye turning blank and devoid of life. "_It's becoming clear now. According to the crystal ball, your next task will begin when an eight-legged creature descends from the sky._"

The blue light started to fade. He drew himself forward, eyes widening. This sounded like an interesting challenge. "That's weird. 'An eight-legged creature from the sky'?"

She shrugged, leaning back in her seat. Ryoma frowned and looked at the unsteady flame as it danced on the lamp spout, blinking when something tiny and blurred lowered itself right before his eyes, masking the fire from his sight. Grunting in surprise, he pulled back and refocused his vision, scrutinising the dark spot. It had many protrusions that looked like... legs?

In that instant, goose bumps rose like an army across his skin. His heart slammed into his ribs, eyes growing wide. Ryoma _hated_ spiders. Lips agape and soundless, he stared at Rouge, who didn't quite grasp his silent plea for help. He tried refocusing his vision again, to ascertain that the spider was still trackable. It was not. For all he knew, it might already be scuttling in his clothes.

"ARGH! I _hate spiders_!" he yelled, leaping up from his chair and knocking it onto the ground. His entire body felt itchy all over. He reached behind, scratching at his back through his clothes. His chest was ticklish. It was a kind of fear that he couldn't explain, that made his heart hammer and his body hypersensitive. Shuddering, he started to hop on his feet, clawing at his front, trying to shake the spider away. When that didn't help, he shrugged the _kimono_ top and vest off, so that they hung by the sash around his waist, turning around in circles and attempting to find the spider on his back. "It's on me! Get it off, get it off! I can- can feel it!"

He did not notice the chair behind him until it was too late.

There was a startled yelp from the back as his legs hit the fortune teller's chair, his momentum thrusting him up against her, tipping his balance. Heart lodging in his throat, Ryoma twisted himself around, bracing his arms forward as he tumbled to the ground with the woman, his legs tangling in her chair, hoping that she would not hit her head, and that he would not crush her with his weight.

_Thump!_

His palms hit the hard floor, sending a jerk through his body. At the same time, she landed on her shoulder, yelping sharply in pain. Miraculously, his legs had not crushed hers. Ryoma stared at the woman anxiously, waiting to see if she was conscious. His heart pounded. "Are- are you okay, Miss?"

"Ugh, yes..." she moaned, rolling onto her back, stunned and blinking dazedly up at him. They remained staring at each other for a good while, until she recovered her senses, blinking and trying to shift from her position. "Oww..."

He wasn't sure which way to move, only knowing that his knees and palms were throbbing. This girl, however, seemed to need medical attention of some sort. She was shifting awkwardly on the ground. "Stay here, I'll get you a doctor, Miss."

"Name's Rouge," she mumbled, reaching up and grabbing a handful of the clothes at his waist, blinking slowly. "I think I'm fine."

He paused just as he was pushing himself up, looking down worriedly at her. "I'm very sorry about this, Rouge."

"Mm, it's okay," she murmured, the frown fading off her forehead. Her single eye grew more lucid, and he watched as she gazed at him, her attention hovering on his face. A soft moan escaped her lips when she tried to arch her back, and he found his gaze slipping lower, to her chest, faintly illuminated by the crack in the tent flaps.

From this distance, he could see the soft mounds of her flesh clearly, round and smooth, as if waiting to be touched as they rose and fell with each breath. Without thinking, he recalled the dream he had from the night before, knowing instinctively the dusky nipples that lay beneath her white bra. He could imagine the texture of them on his palm, imagine them hard and pebbled, imagine her rubbing them into his chest, eye hooded with lust. Heat rose to his cheeks; his loincloth was growing too tight.

It occurred to him that Rouge was right beneath his body, the curves of her hips under his growing arousal. If she were completely naked, just as the woman in his dream had been... Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut, heart laced with guilt. She had no clue about his mental invasion, and he should not take advantage of a prone woman as a samurai. Muttering an apology, he started to shift away, unable to look her in the eye.

"Don't go," she murmured huskily, the hand on his bunched-up clothes tightening and tugging. He paused, cracking his eyes open for a glimpse of her. There was the hint of a smile on her lips, and a warm hand suddenly glided up his abdomen, languidly caressing the muscles there. He stiffened. "Mmm."

Rouge watched as the samurai froze, his cheeks reddening. There was just something heady about the way he had straddled her, topless, his hands on either sides of her chest. In the faint light, she could make out his muscled arms and pectorals, as well as the dark, flat discs of his nipples. It made her wonder what it would feel like pressing up against him, how the rest of his body would look. Her fingers played along the contours of his midriff, trailing upwards, if it weren't for the fact that he would bolt if she went any lower. He shivered against her fingertips.

"We could look through _all_ your clothes if you want to make sure the spider's out..." she offered in a low murmur, stroking a flat nipple slowly. He felt so hard that she wanted to know if _other_ parts of him were equally as stiff. Warmth gathered wetly between her legs.

"N-no thanks, Rouge. I gotta go," he mumbled, flushing and jerking away from her, shrugging back into his clothes. The expression on his face was unreadable. He straightened and got to his feet, turning away, his sword sheaths clattering. "I have to train and defeat Tsurugi. Until we next meet!"

She relaxed back into the ground, listening to his hurried footsteps as they faded. The sharp ache in her shoulder had diminished, and she had to admit that the prediction, although mildly catastrophic, had turned out stimulating. Ryoma's body felt _good_.

Birdsong slipped to a lull as noon drew closer, giving way to the soft gurgle of a stream winding through the grove. The trees were relatively short but numerous, providing ample shade over the sparse undergrowth. Speckles of sunlight brightened the leaf-covered ground. Squirrels rustled occasionally through rich green leaves, gathering nuts and dabbling in games of hide-and-seek. It was as if this place was a haven for the creatures, lying a short distance away from the nearest town.

Rouge picked her way slowly through the trees, careful to avoid dried twigs on the ground. She was not being secretive - all she was trying to prevent was Ryoma spotting her and interrupting his training to flee. At least, that did not seem surreptitious to her. The fortune teller had closed her shop for now, travelling the mile or so where her crystal ball had pointed. As it was, her striking clothes made it difficult for her to conceal herself amongst the dull chestnut trunks.

A muffled exclamation up ahead made her pause. She rested her fingers lightly on a tree, cautiously peeking behind the girth of the trunk. The lock of hair before her hidden eye swayed. Sure enough, there was a quick movement about twenty yards away, accompanied by the glint of light on metal. Moments later, a navy-dressed figure came into view, wearing a brown top of some sort. That had to be Ryoma.

Slowly, Rouge approached his training grounds, making sure to keep her movements short and hidden, until she was ten yards away, and able to get a good view of the samurai.

He had a sword gripped with both hands, wielding it deftly as he made multiple quick slices through the air, faster than she could trace with her gaze. Her eyes widened. She knew he was skilled, but never had she seen the true extent of his capabilities. It bred a new kind of respect for him deep in her heart.

Ryoma had his sleeves tied up to prevent obstruction, and her gaze shifted to his arms, strong and gleaming with a layer of sweat. The slickness, even from this distance, reminded her of the image she had seen in her crystal ball, of him bare-bodied, save for the ridiculously long piece of cloth at his hips. And past the newfound respect, his strength elicited a nagging want in her veins - a desire to see him entirely naked, to perhaps get her hands on his hard body, touch the muscles at his abdomen. She drew a quavering breath, shivering.

What if he did not have that piece of cloth beneath the waterfall? Or better yet, what if she had been with him, licking the wetness off his chest and slipping her fingers behind his loincloth? Would he have moaned? Heat was creeping into her middle, accentuating her awareness of the hunger at her crotch. What if they had done more earlier that morning; what if their bodies had touched? The smooth, hard muscles of his chest were titillating, and she had wanted nothing more than to know if his intense gaze on her chest had excited him. Rouge squirmed, her flesh growing heavy with want.

"Who's there?"

The yell cut through her thoughts. Rouge blinked, ducking sharply back behind the tree. Her heart thumped from a mixture of shock and arousal. Did he see her? A quick glance around yielded no other spies. The forest was silent. Figuring that he would come to look for her if she did not reveal herself, she stepped out from behind her tree gingerly, flashing a charming smile at him. He whipped his head around to face her, holding his sword as if ready for battle.

The fortune teller could have sworn that the wariness on his face was immediately replaced with an expression of dread, his cheeks paling slightly when she slowly covered the distance between them. He relaxed marginally and stared at her, looking ready to bolt again.

"You were following me!" he accused when she stopped before him, keeping his eyes on her face. There was the slightest hint of a blush fanning across his cheeks.

She took a moment to observe him. Sweat ran down the sides of his cheeks in rivulets. He had tied a narrow white strip of cloth across his forehead to keep his hair from obscuring his view. For all that he had been training, the man was only taking deep breaths, holding his sword to a side with one hand. She recalled the invisible slices he had made, tucking her hands behind her back and swaying her chest. "I thought you were wonderful, Ryoma."

His eyes fell to her chest. The response was instant - his guarded expression fell away from his face, and his cheeks tinged red. It was another moment before he seemed to fight the reaction, sheathing his sword. A frown crossed his forehead. "I'm far from any good, Rouge. It's going to take me a lot more training than that to defeat Tsurugi!" Before she could speak, he glanced at her shoulder. "How's your injury now? I'm sorry I wasn't able to help before."

Rouge inclined her head, a smile tugging at her lips. She had not expected him to remember that this soon after training. Her heart warmed, and she returned his gaze, speaking truthfully, "It doesn't hurt much anymore now."

He looked relieved. The parting of his _kimono_ top had loosened during his training. She stepped closer, eyeing the soaked fabric, reaching up towards it with a finger, murmuring, "Thanks for the concern, and thanks for stopping by today. I really enjoyed it."

He blushed and panicked, backpaddling. "I have to go now, Rouge."

But she had just arrived! Blinking at his movement, she glanced up, searching his face. He looked away, shifting on his feet. If she could prolong his presence for a little longer... Rouge took a step forward. "Ryoma-"

The samurai's eyes widened. He backed away, turning and taking off into the grove, leaving her staring after him. "I'll see you around sometime!"

A sigh escaped her lips. Ryoma had slipped out of her grasp again, though he scarcely realised that his shyness was starting to grow on her. Somehow, the disappointment he left her with only added to the almost-predatory desire that was slowly taking root in her chest.

* * *

_He was on his back, nested in the bed of his rented room. The space around was dark and shadowed. He was not alone, however. The woman from his previous dream was with him again, as naked as before. Chocolate-brown hair veiled her eyes, and all he could see were those gleaming pink lips on mocha-toned skin. She was straddling his hips._

_His eyes widened when he realised the implications of their position, recalling what had happened the last time. She had brought him to full arousal, taken his pleasure as her own, touched him where no one else had. And she was going to do it again. Squirming, he reached to pause the fingers deftly undoing his trousers, blushing when the slow rocking of her hips pushed her soft crotch right against his. Pleasure ground into his flesh._

_A moan escaped his lips. He touched her slender fingers, drawing her attention momentarily to his face. Her lips twitched in a smile - for a moment, he thought she had understood what he wanted - then a warm hand cupped around his, lifting it up towards the juncture between her legs. He stiffened in shock, snatching his hand away, but not before his fingers brushed hot, moist flesh. She might have gasped. Heat flooded his loins at the thought that it might have been another part of him instead, that her wetness might have smeared onto his growing length, that he had touched her most private spot._

_The fingers returned to his pants, undoing them and easing them down. Not again... This time, she bent forwards, and the proximity of her pink lips reminded him of someone familiar. It felt as if he knew her somehow, but his mind was not making the connection. A warm hand fondled him through his underwear. His flesh throbbed with pleasure. He shivered, rutting into her palm, even as his mind yelled not to._

_Who are you, he started to ask, to distract her, but she placed a finger to his lips, tracing them with a lazy touch that seared into his skin. He squirmed, trying to pull away from her, feeling exceptionally vulnerable, knowing that there wasn't another way out._

* * *

"Here you go, sir." The stall assistant set a large bowl of steaming hot noodles and soup down on the worn wooden table, collecting the due payment with his free hand. Sunland was not known for its noodles and soups, but once in a while, there were gems like this stall to be found. Steam rose from the wide ceramic bowl, teasing his nose with a warm, spicy scent. Fried onions, golden-brown, floated on the rich clear soup, boiled for hours with various meats. Sweet peas gleamed wetly at the surface, piled next to slices of brownish-pink pork and slivers of mushrooms, hiding the coils of smooth noodles that lay beneath.

Ryoma nodded his thanks, breaking apart his chopsticks and starting on his lunch. He was ravenous after a whole morning of vigorous training. It was perhaps fortunate that Rouge had not continued her mid-morning visits; he had been tense the day after the first, afraid that she would come to distract him again.

Truth be told, there wasn't anything _bad_ about the fortune teller. She did not seem to harbour ill intents, nor was she any interested in his possessions. All she appeared keen on was his body, and that alone was detrimental to his training as a samurai. No matter how hard he had tried to resist her advances, his body had responded to them in a carnal way that he was embarrassed to admit. It had never happened with other females before - but then again, he had never met anyone who dressed as provocatively as she did, nor was as forward as she was.

The rift, then, perhaps, lay with him. He tried to avoid the woman because he couldn't help being physically attracted to her, and he was mad at himself for it. Being with her drove thoughts of his training out of his mind. It was unthinkable for him to do such a thing, and his _sensei_ would frown upon it, maybe even lose faith in him. If there was one thing Ryoma was afraid of doing, it was disappointing the swordsman he looked up to most.

He finished the last dregs of his noodles, setting his chopsticks down onto the table, before lifting the ceramic bowl to his lips, taking steady mouthfuls of the savoury soup. There were still some curious stares at him from around, but the patrons at the noodle shop had mostly grown used to the sight of him during the week he had been here. He usually paid them no mind, keeping to himself and musing.

Despite his aversion towards her, Ryoma had dropped by Rouge's tent on a couple of other occasions, because she was the only person he could talk to freely in this new town. There had not been many acquaintances made while he travelled, and Rouge was the only one who cared about what he said. In essence, he saw a friend in her.

He had been initially worried that he had offended her by running off, but she did not seem to mind the least bit, and kept a safe distance from him on both visits. That had made him slightly more comfortable with her.

The dreams did not stop coming, however. They had begun the first night he saw her, and subsequently, the same mysterious woman invaded his sleep each night, robbing him of his restraint. It was as if they were dark little secrets, never to be mentioned in his entire career as a strict samurai. Even avoiding Rouge for days had not decreased their frequency.

He set his bowl down with a little more force than was necessary, wiping his mouth across his sleeve. Now that lunch was done with, he had to run an errand for his landlady - she had mentioned something about fetching grocery. Pushing himself to his feet, he turned, catching a glimpse of a familiar red _kimono_ suit. His eyes widened.

Ryoma left the noodle shop, swiftly following that spot of colour. The brush of hair on a head taller than his almost proved that his target was Tsurugi Akira. With only a week of training, he wasn't positive that he had enough to defeat this man. But at the same time, as visitors of this Sunland town, he could not ensure that Tsurugi would be staying the same period as he did, and he wanted another chance to prove his worth, and uphold the reputation of the Akudo Dojo.

With a short burst of speed, he wove through the people, planting himself steps ahead of Tsurugi, staring at that eagle-like face with resolution. The flow of people diverged around them. Tsurugi looked the same as he did before.

"You again?" the red-haired man drawled, pausing in his step, raising an arched eyebrow. His swords swayed at his side. The companion Ryoma had seen him with a week ago was not around.

"I'm not giving up yet, Tsurugi!" Ryoma told the man loudly, glaring at him. A few passers-by turned to stare. He ignored them. "You'll never get away with insulting Akudo Kanema - I challenge you to a fight tomorrow, three in the afternoon, in the forest just outside this town!"

Tsurugi smirked and shrugged, resuming his route down the street. The beady black eyes swept away from his face, staring straight ahead. "I accept the challenge, kid. Try not to lose so bad this time."

Ryoma stood his ground as the swordsman brushed past him, acutely aware of his presence. Adrenaline pumped through his veins at the prospect of fighting Tsurugi again the next day. That smug tone of his grated on his nerves. He had to win and prove that man wrong, for himself and his mentor.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: ** Sorry this came so late, I've actually finished this chapter a couple of weeks ago, but then I took up a waitressing job that basically vacuumed all the life and time out of me... am working on chapter 4 at the moment, it's taking longer than I expected.  
Oh! And if anyone feels that the characters aren't developed enough, here's why – I'm planning to reveal more of them along the way. Hopefully that works. Again, credit for the fight scene goes to **Silver Warrior**.  
Power Stone and its characters don't belong to me.

* * *

"Hey _Rouge_," a singsong voice called as a short-cropped blond head popped itself between the purple tent flaps, peering into the dim interior of the marquee. He caught sight of the fortune teller sitting at her table, flashing her a cheerful grin. Sunlight filtered through the gaps between his head and the cloth, glinting off his flight goggles.

Rouge looked up at him, a soft piece of white linen in her hand, in the midst of polishing her crystal ball. Surprise flitted across her face, as though she had not been expecting anyone. She folded the cloth up and set it to a side, motioning for him to enter. "Oh, it's you, Falcon. Is anything the matter?"

The blond did not take heed of her brisk tone, spreading the tent entrance wide open with his gloved hands, flooding the tent with light for a few moments. She squinted, looking to a side. The amethyst on the sash of her head gleamed.

Edward Falcon stepped into the tent, sliding half-gracefully into the wooden chair across from her. He set a red-sleeved elbow on the table, propping his chin on his palm, sky-blue eyes fixed on her face, clearly pleased with himself. "Guess what I've got?" With his other hand, he drew two waxed paper slips from his breast pocket, holding them out in front of her with a flourish. "Two tickets to the latest play in town - Romano and Jessica!"

"Really?" She lifted an eyebrow, gaze falling to the pair of decorated white paper between his fingers. There were fancy words printed on them, that she couldn't read from where she was. Part of her was already guessing at the man's intentions. She leaned forward and inclined her head with an air of naivete. "Who's the lucky girl you're thinking of asking out?"

"Why, the lucky girl happens to be you, Rouge!" Falcon grinned, brushing his nose with a finger. He brought himself a fraction closer to her, placing the tickets on the tabletop, his grin unwavering. "So, what do you say? You, me, and dinner together, as I've promised. And after that, it'll be Romano and Jessica under the stars. Sweet, eh?"

"Sounds good to me," she agreed, smiling amiably at him. Truthfully speaking, she would much rather have a chance to do such a thing with Ryoma, but something told her that watching a play would be the last thought on the samurai's mind. In actual fact, Rouge had never had the chance to attend a play before. The years on the road taking care of her tent meant that there was hardly time for expensive leisure. "When will it be?"

"Tomorrow evening, if it isn't too soon for you." Falcon slid a ticket over to her, the grin parting his lips so wide that she thought it might split his cheeks. "I'll pick you up at five?"

His enthusiasm amused her, drawing a laugh from her lips. "Sure thing." She lifted the ticket delicately off the table, raising an eyebrow at the dreamy expression on the pilot's face. A little spring of excitement was starting to bubble in her middle. Her first play!

"So, uh, I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Rouge!" Falcon got to his feet, casting her a tiny solute, before leaving the tent. She smiled in response and watched him go.

* * *

Daylight gave no sign of fading as the minutes passed. The sun was starting to dip low in the sky, and shadows lengthened by a fraction. Noises started to sound throughout the forest as the heat of the day began to wear away, drawing creatures out of their nests on their daily hunt for food. The undergrowth of the forest was rather well-lit by the sun shining in from the side, sending golden rays between rough wooden trunks.

Ryoma tapped his foot impatiently on the leaf-covered ground, pulling a small gilded fob watch out from his _kimono_ top and glancing at it. It was already five in the afternoon, and there had been no sign of Tsurugi for the past two hours. He frowned, sliding the watch back into his clothes, glancing through the trees around. There was no visible movement. It did not bear well on a swordsman to arrive late, as it diminished the importance of his word. Was Tsurugi trying to lull him into a sense of security and lower his guard? Ryoma clenched his fists, keeping his senses alert. The small clearing remained empty save for himself.

He sensed, rather than heard, the man appearing behind him. How long Tsurugi had been there, he could not tell. A frown creased his forehead when he whipped around to face his opponent, one hand on the hilt of his sword. The taller man was standing at the other end of the clearing, wearing the same red _kimono_ top and trousers as before.

"You're going down again, don't you know that?" Tsurugi drawled, stepping forward, reaching for his own _wakizashi_. He looked Ryoma over, his expression confident, lips curved in a smirk. "Didn't that old man of yours teach you that you can't do anything in a week? I guess not."

For some reason, it irked him to hear Tsurugi mention his teacher like that, as if it were some common handle to be thrown about loosely. He could feel his blood heating with indignance and anger, feel danger spark in the air as the man drew his sword out slowly, the sound of metal akin to a snake's hiss. He wanted the swordsman to swallow his words.

"Don't you dare call him an old man, Tsurugi! He's much better than you're ever going to be!" Ryoma growled, tugging his sword out of its scabbard, relishing the weight of steel in his hands.

There was no verbal response. Tsurugi started for him then, sword to a side, slippers thudding dully on the soft forest floor.

He was right before Ryoma faster than he expected it. On reflex, the younger man swung his sword up, halting Tsurugi's initial assault. The clash of metal rung in his ears. He slipped to the side, forcing his opponent's _wakizashi_ away, slashing at him. It did not come as a surprise that Tsurugi's own sword was instantly there, parrying his slices. The hiss of steel grinding on steel permeated through the trees.

In the shafts of sunlight between the trees, they fought, back and forth, kicking up pieces of dried leaves with their straw-slippered feet, neither giving an inch to the other. Tsurugi's defense was too good, and Ryoma too quick, for either of them to score a hit on the other. The younger man's anger was just as strong as when they last fought, fuelling his energy.

The swordsmen leaped back to catch their breaths, eyeing one another, searching for openings and weaknesses, anything to give them the upper hand. Ryoma felt his heart pounding with exertion, tightening his fingers on the cloth-bound hilt of his sword. He had to do better than this.

The forest was silent around them, without the faintest rustle of leaves or a meek birdcall. It was as if their surroundings were a spectator of their fight. By this time, the sun was drooping low in the sky, sending orange fingers through the forest that dragged the warriors' shadows out over the leaf-strewn ground.

Finding no openings, they prepared to begin the offense again. Tsurugi's thin lips curled in a confident smirk. It did not go unnoticed by Ryoma, nor did it ease his anger. Instead, the mockery infuriated him, made his chest heat. With a vicious cry, Ryoma sprang forward, his _wakizashi_ scything in a deadly arc towards Tsurugi. The latter had, however, anticipated it, merely sidestepping to avoid the blow. Tsurugi used his sword to help propel Ryoma forward, by slapping him disdainfully on the rear with the flat of his blade, adding to his momentum and humiliation. The force was enough to tip Ryoma ever so slightly off balance, sending him into the path of a raised tree root.

His foot caught on the obstacle; he stumbled, heart skipping a beat, losing his bearings as he toppled forward, dread piling onto his chest shortly before his head met roughly with the tree trunk, his vision turning black. Ryoma slipped into unconsciousness.

Tsurugi stared at the fallen samurai for a few moments, before sheathing his _wakizashi_ and walking off.

* * *

Rouge leaned back into the plush velvet seat, rich maroon cloth brushing across her bare shoulders. It was dark within the theatre, and a hundred seats were before the stage, theirs being at the premium, raised platform with the best view of the play. Falcon was sure rich. The mahogany stage was well lit, casting an off-white glow on the audience, who was held enraptured by the cast's expressive, clear voices. The plot had drawn her in; it told of a pair of star-crossed lovers, and a society that frowned upon them.

She had worn her best outfit for the occasion, a powder-blue dress that started from beneath her arms to her knees. It was made of satin, clinging to her torso and flaring out past her waist. Rouge brushed a stray lock of hair from her face with white-gloved fingers, slowly adjusting to the weight of the triangular gold pendant in the hollow of her collarbones. The gloves were her favourite article this evening, wrapped snugly around her forearm and extending past her elbows. They made her feel elegant somehow. Contrary to the usual, she had left her hair unbound, allowing the gleaming wavy locks to ripple down her back.

It was a pity that Ryoma couldn't see her dressed like this - if anything, she would have wanted him to meet her in her best. Perhaps that might change his opinion of her. Would he like the sight of her in this outfit, or less? It did occur to her that she hadn't anything serious in mind when she thought of the samurai, though her heart was starting to flutter when she saw him, and her blood heated when she fantasized about him naked.

Guilt crept up her middle when she realised that her mind had been playing around with thoughts of Ryoma, when she probably should have given more credit to the pilot. He had tried to be charming the whole evening, telling her of his escapades and adventures. That had mostly occurred over the very pleasant dinner they'd had. He had presented her with a rose the moment he arrived at her tent, ensconced prettily in netting and ribbon. It now rested in her lap, a reminder that Falcon wanted her romantic interest. Was this a date?

A sudden yell from the stage drew her attention back to the play. It seemed that Romano had done something drastic to gain the ire of his town. People he knew were surrounding him and pointing fingers. She leaned forward, watching keenly.

Falcon fidgeted to her side. He had been squirming now and then, but she had not paid him his due attention once the play commenced. The pilot had taken care to make himself presentable in a black suit, forgoing his gloves and goggles for once. He did not make her heard palpitate, however. The stories he told had her mildly interested, and he just could not attract her like Ryoma did. She felt rather sorry for him. Perhaps she could make up for it after the show, by listening to him more.

"So my father left just like that - jetting off in his plane while I ran behind and shouted for him to come back," Falcon narrated, casting her a sidelong look. "I was seven then."

"I'm truly sorry to hear about that, Falcon," she told him softly, placing a hand on his arm. It did not quite matter in her situation, but everyone else who had to grow up without one or both parents surely deserved some sympathy. It was no mean feat raising a child, and neither was it easy making it through adolescence without guidance either. The corners of her lips twitched downwards. "It must have been difficult without your father around."

The sky was an exceptional shade of navy blue, with diamond dust sprinkled across it. They were slowly making their way back to the town square, where the marble angel stood silently in the middle of her sanctuary, water ceasing to flow from her hands. Lamplight illuminated the place dimly, just enough for them to pick their path out in the dark. Her tent was a vague shape in the distance, dark and comforting.

"Nah, it wasn't all that bad after a while. Apollis - my family butler - took up the responsibilities of educating me soon after."

They stopped at the entrance of her tent. Falcon turned to look at her, almost expectantly. Rouge swallowed. She slowly shifted her feet to face him, dreading the probability that the man might be seeking more than she could give. Throughout the entire stroll back, she had only felt a sense of friendliness towards him, even though both him and Ryoma were equally as single, and Falcon seemed more willing to lose his bachelor status. Heart quickening with anxiety, she met his gaze.

"Thanks for tonight, I enjoyed myself," she heard herself say, managing a small smile. The play had ended in a bittersweet manner, nearly inducing tears. Rouge was grateful to the blond for the experience. To distract herself, she glanced around the town square, realising that she was completely alone with him. It increased the awkwardness she felt by a notch. Her fingers tightened around the stalk of rose.

"It was my pleasure, Rouge." He grinned amiably, drawing his hands from his pockets and taking a step closer to her. She reminded herself to stand her ground. It would not do to flee and have him give chase. "I was thinking, would you like to meet up again? You know, as more than friends?"

And there it was. She froze, unable to meet his gaze. Over the course of the evening, she had come to realise that the samurai who rejected her advances was the one who appealed more to her. He had that shyness Falcon seemed to lack; it made the pursuit interesting. She took a deep breath, finally looking him in the eye. "I can't be in a relationship with you, Falcon."

Or anyone else, for that matter. Not even Ryoma.

Rouge bit her lip, watching as Falcon's expression fell. It had happened before, but not with someone who had spent that much money on her. She ought to be used to the guilt by now. Looking at him apologetically, she smiled tentatively at him, holding the rose with both her hands. "We can still be friends, you know."

The blond seemed to cheer up a little, grinning at her. The blues of his eyes were a dull shade. He took a step back, giving her more space to breathe. "Thanks, Rouge. I do hope you had a great night."

She smiled again, with relief this time, turning towards her tent entrance, rose in hand. "I did. Thank _you_, Falcon. I'll see you around?"

He nodded and waited until she slipped in, waving. "Good night, Rouge."

* * *

Straw slippers thudded dully on worn cobblestones, slowly moving their owner back to his temporary residence. The footfalls hardly travelled far on this still, muggy night. At this time, the street lamps were on, but most of the townsfolk seemed to have returned home.

Ryoma made his way through the streets, paying little attention to his surroundings as he walked, jaw clenched. It had taken a long time before he had finally come to and pulled himself to his feet, sheathing his sword and starting home. Thoughts were still swirling in his mind. The disappointment from before was back in full force, if not doubled. Twice he had fought Tsurugi, and twice he had lost. It almost certainly made it seem that Akudo-sensei's teaching was subpar, but he refused to believe that. If anything, Akudo Kanema would defeat Tsurugi Akira hands down. That he was confident of.

Perhaps the only thing he actually felt like doing was to drop by Rouge's tent despite the late hour, and see if she would be kind enough to hear him out for a while. The sense of failure could not be gotten rid of by himself, and talking to the fortune teller seemed to ease his worries. She was just a good friend that his body was far too keen on. After they talked, he would go back, rest, and return to his training at dawn, perhaps even find new challengers to hone his skills first. And then he would return to fight the swordsman again when he was ready. This time, he would not care if Tsurugi left Sunland before their final battle. He would hunt the man down no matter what it took, and spar till he won.

Ignoring the sting of bruises on his body, Ryoma continued to make his way to the town square. It wasn't long before he saw the faint silhouette of Rouge's tent. For some reason, it seemed to take eons to get to the marquee entrance, even when his steps had quickened by a fraction. He looked forward to laying his eyes on her again, even though business was probably done for the day.

He paused at the entrance, common sense finally getting a grip on him. What was he doing outside the woman's tent at this hour? If anything, he was setting himself up as bait for her next feeding. And how she fed. The memory of her slender fingertips on his chest arose, and it was all he could do to force it back into the depths of his mind, concentrating instead on the retreating image of Tsurugi's back. The humiliation and defeat struck him anew. He squeezed his eyes shut, pledging a mental apology to his mentor for tarnishing his name. It was something he wouldn't forgive himself for until the eventual day when he was skilled enough to bring Tsurugi to his knees.

The bitter self-reproach continued in front of Rouge's tent, to the point where he wasn't sure if he could even sleep that night, so full was his thoughts of training, Tsurugi, and his mentor's reproving frown. He exhaled, pulled the tent flaps open - it was curiously not tied shut - and stepped into near-darkness.

It did not take him long to find another crack of light in the cloth walls, cautiously heading towards it. He knew he was intruding, but his thoughts were numbing his senses. "Rouge? Are you there?"

He separated the curtain-like partition, peering into the lamp-lit room beyond. It seemed to be walled in with more cloth, with some sort of a low bed in the middle. A dresser and a makeshift closet were the only other things in the enclosed space.

A startled yelp sounded to his left. He swivelled his head, gaze snapping to the wide-eyed apparition staring right back at him, with a pale blue dress sliding down her front, revealing a white bra clinging to full breasts and gloved arms tucked behind her back, as if she had just unzipped her dress. There was no way she could be Rouge, because her hair was unbound, left flowing down her back like an angel's, her sleek shoulders bare and a necklace at her throat.

But she also had the same lock of hair the fortune teller did, covering half her almond-shaped face. It was then that he realised it _was_ Rouge staring right back at him, her cheeks dark with colour.

Words fled his mind. All he knew was that he should have been out of the tent and far away, that he should apologise and leave immediately, that he should not be trying to look further down her clothes. But he was also aware of how her chest seemed especially tempting in the lamplight, soft and lush, how he wondered about her state of undress if he had stepped in a moment later, how damned sexy she looked in the middle of undressing.

He ought to leave. Right now. But his feet had frozen, and his mind was picturing her beneath him on this bed of hers, grinding nakedly into him. He was hard, and his body wanted to stay. He wanted her thrusting her hips right against his.

Her eye flickered over him, down his clothes. A bubble of worry arose, that she might see how aroused he was, but then he remembered that his trousers were baggy. Heat rose to his cheeks. He squirmed and wondered if she knew what she did to his body.

"Why are- what happened to you, Ryoma? You look like you've been thrashed up," Rouge murmured worriedly, stepping towards him. She held a hand behind her dress to keep it around her waist, letting it gather under her navel, around her hips. His mind was struggling for words, finding a handful, casting the irrelevant articles away. He couldn't let her touch him. The bruises did not hurt, but any more of those hands and he feared he might lose control. "Stay here for a while. I'll get you cleaned up."

He watched as she turned to a side, reaching for a towel and a basin of water, the way she bent forward almost causing her breasts to spill from her bra. He swallowed, stared at her twin mounds, felt his length protest against its confines. His heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and nerves. At length, he managed to find his voice. "No! I- I'll- I'll come back tomorrow, Rouge!"

She glanced up as he retreated hurriedly, making his way out of her tent before she could stop him. It took her a moment to process the fact that he was gone, slowly setting the towel and basin down. In the dim light of the gas lamp, he had looked scruffy and bruised, as if he had been involved in a very physical fight. Queasiness roiled in her middle. She hoped that he was less battered than he looked. Why she was this worried, she couldn't tell, but she did know that his sudden appearance was far from unpleasant.

Rouge loosened her grip on the dress, letting it pool on the floor around her ankles, before stepping out of it, padding over to the tent entrance and tying the flaps shut. The pseudo-escape from Falcon had rid her thoughts of tent security, though it was a heady surprise meeting the samurai because of it. She returned to the small living space behind her work room, easing between the dresser and her bed in her underwear.

It had been thrilling to have Ryoma's intense gaze sweep over her from top to toe, as if he was hungry for her too. There was a certain lust in his hooded eyes that he had not concealed, and it heated her blood to know that he was interested in her body, that for all she knew, he might have been rock-hard under those loose clothes of his. Her flesh grew slick with wetness. So much for all that talk about his training.

A grin crept up her lips, and she proceeded to slide her gloves off. If he had agreed to stay, she might have been all over his body by now, snaking her hands all over his form and learning just how hard he was. Rouge blushed, closing her eyes and smiling to herself.

* * *

He stepped out of the bath, onto the cold tiled floor, water dripping off his bare skin. Absently, he grabbed the old towel to the side and started to dry himself, shaking wet hair out of his eyes. Without the cloth tying his hair up, Ryoma looked almost like the lesser counterpart of a savage - long tangled hair and a muscled, naked body. Water pooled around his feet.

It had taken a cold bath to remove his arousal after that encounter with Rouge. A long, cold bath. It was something that he didn't want to repeat in quite a while, that was for sure. Somehow, that woman made him hard without even trying to, and it irked him that his body craved for her. He hadn't been that attracted at the start, but these new images of her kept coming. It didn't help that her kindness towards him made his breath catch, that the word "beautiful" made him think of her.

But, well, they were friends. Anyone could see that. If anything, she was a hindrance to his being a samurai.

Ryoma towelled his hair dry, frowning. He had to change his training and improve it, to defeat that red-dressed swordsman. What could he do about it, though? The interests of his mind and body clashed, and he would much rather be in pursuit of Tsurugi, or fighting new challengers. There was no time to pay his carnal desires any heed. The nagging guilt and disappointment from earlier today weighed enough on his mind.

Tomorrow, he would talk to Rouge about Tsurugi, to ease the mess he was in, and tell her that he would be seeing a lot less of her in his search for more warriors. That would be his new training routine, that made use of what his _sensei_ had taught him. He could not believe that he had forgotten those words of wisdom. Perhaps he had fought Tsurugi again too soon.

Swiftly tying his towel around his hips, Ryoma picked his folded clothes up and made his way back to his rented room, to polish his swords for a new day ahead.

-

_He was in a different room this time, one walled in by folds of cloth. It felt as if he had been here before. There was a low bed in the middle, neatly covered with sheets, though what drew his attention was the same woman sitting languidly on the mattress, watching him with her veiled eyes. He was hardly surprised, except that she wore clothes this time, a purple-and-white outfit that had long been seared into his mind. Again, he got the feeling that he knew her from somewhere._

_She lifted her face, and he felt his feet move towards her. Panic slithered down his throat. Stop walking, he tried to tell his body, I can't touch her. He tried to step back, but it was as if there was something behind him, pushing him forward. This could not be happening, not again. But there was only him and her in this enclosed space, as if they were meeting in secret, as if they were having a lewd tryst._

_The woman rose to her feet to receive him, finally facing him fully, so that he saw the single grey eye, and the lock of hair covering the other. He knew her. She was that fortune teller he was always seeing. And then he realised that this was the same woman who had been haunting him, touching where she should not, taking his innocence at such times when he could not say no. He hoped she would spare him tonight, in this strange room saturated with a thick atmosphere he couldn't identify. She reached towards him, touched his lips. Heat emanated into his skin._

_Please don't do this, he tried to tell her, but his throat had frozen. She leaned in, caressed his arms, brushed her silky lips down his throat. His pulse jumped. Her soft breasts pushed into his chest. The delectable warmth of her body teased his senses. She undid his top easily, pushed thick cloth aside to reveal his bare chest. No, he attempted to dissuade her, I'm a samurai in training, you can't do this to me._

_At that, she looked up at him, her single visible eye hooded, smiling seductively. He shook his head, tried to step back. Her chest lifted and fell against his front, and he looked down at them, seeing the contours of her breasts accentuated by shadows. Blood stirred in his veins. She caught his gaze, stepped back, away from him. There was barely any time for a breath of relief, before her hands were around his, cupping them firmly, lifting his palms up to her chest before he realised what she was doing. No, he protested. I should not be doing this. It went ignored._

_Her breasts felt soft and warm through her bra. He bit his lip, breath catching, trying to pull away before it was too late. She pushed the soft flesh into his hands and moaned. Air rushed from his lungs; he could feel his body reacting to her lust, feel his loins grow full with arousal. She guided his hands over the warm mounds, pushing them together to deepen her cleavage. He blushed furiously, torn between the soft texture of her breasts and his innocence. She squeezed his fingers, letting them press into her soft flesh. He groaned, imagined what this would be like without the article of clothing._

_As if she had read his thoughts, the woman released his hands, reaching behind her back. He realised what her intentions were, swallowing hard, shaking his head, yet at the same time, he was transfixed by her actions, his gaze remaining on her chest, until she undid the white garment, sliding it off to reveal mocha-toned breasts and pebbled, dusky nipples that called for his touch._

_His actions were almost like clockwork - he lifted a hand and reached for a breast, brushing the pad of his thumb across her hard nipple. She gasped. The lurid sound made him stiffer. He flushed with embarrassment._

_The air was thick and steamy, and he couldn't quite breathe, not when she dropped her bra onto the floor, winding her arms around his neck. Her breath fanned across his lips, breasts flattening against his bare chest. He tried to squirm away, to no avail, growing painfully hard. The smile on her lips was a satisfied one, when he felt a warm palm cup his bulge through his _hakama_. Please, he groaned, not again._

_She smiled mischievously and ground her hand into his stiffness, her parted lips seeking his.  
_

* * *

_There was a thick grey fog all around. It was cool and wet, swirling against her skin, as if trying to get a message across. She waited for it to clear, staying calm and still. There was no use navigating a fog with zero visibility. Moments later, it thinned to reveal a pitch-black sky, stained by a large orange-red moon, full and ominous. She had seen this before. The only other time the moon had been this crimson, she had seen herself standing right beneath it, holding a glowing crystal ball with her hands._

It was different this time. The red moon still hung in the sky, but she did not see herself anywhere. Instead, she saw a city consisting of numerous low-rise buildings clustered together, silent and lifeless. It stirred something in her memory that she had left behind ages ago. She had not meant to neglect this municipality; it was because she got so carried away sometimes that she had forgotten.

What was striking about this town, however, was that it was shrouded by a dark shadow, blackness creeping along roofs and walls, which seemed to consume and feed off it, like a parasite that had sunken deep roots into its host. It made a chill slide along her spine, sending fear and worry straight into her heart.

-

Rouge bolted upright in bed, sweat clinging to her skin, eyes darting around the tent. It was dark; the gas lamp had been turned off ages ago, and there was no other source of light around. The sheets had tangled around her legs. Her heart pounded, but it scarcely registered in her mind. The contents of the dream were playing out before her eyes.

If there was one thing she hardly ever did, it was to dream. She had gone without a single dream for years now, until this latest one. It bore an omen so foreboding that she had been shaken from her sleep. Straightening, she took long, deep breaths to calm herself.

The precinct in the dream was Mahdad, a coastal city at the edge of Fireland, where she had been raised as a young child. It was also there that she had begun her career as a fortune teller. The shadows had told her that something had gone wrong with the large town, and a face flashed into her mind, of a plump middle-aged woman with white hair and a kindly smile. Her fingers curled into the sheets.

Mistress Ganna. If her hometown was in danger, Ganna would be too. Her heart clenched with worry. Her travels were no more important than making sure her surrogate mother was safe. She had to return.

* * *

Business was in full swing early that morning, as it went on most days. Stray vegetable leaves were scattered between the cracks of cobblestones, ignored by the human population as it bustled about, travelling from one place to another, between stalls and towards homes. Pots and pans clanged at the pewter vendor; the florist set her flowers into neat pails. Children wailed and refused to go to school, their shadows stretching long and thin across the ground. These scenes varied across the lands - some towns thrived, while others stood barren.

Ryoma strode briskly through the streets, glancing at his surroundings. This was probably one of the last times he would be laying his eyes on these buildings and the people here. After today, he would be venturing further into Sunland, to seek out other fighters for his training. It also meant that he would hardly see the fortune teller anymore. Despite the prospects of uninterrupted training, he felt a pang whenever he thought about not meeting Rouge for months, maybe years. It was as if he was leaving something he shouldn't behind, but he didn't know what it was.

It was no surprise that his feet brought him to the entrance of the wide purple tent once again. In the golden sunlight, Rouge's marquee was a brown-purple shade, almost a sepia tone, like it had aged. He found the parting in the cloth with relative ease, gingerly pulling it apart, peering into the dark interior within.

"Come on in," the sultry, recognisable voice bade him from inside. Flashes of his dream returned to his mind, sending a quiver rippling down his back. Whatever happened with Rouge, he could not stay for long. Things always occurred to send his thoughts askew.

Spreading the cloth door open, Ryoma stepped into the tent, letting the flaps draw shut behind him. It was difficult bringing his eyes up to meet hers, and when he did, it felt like a little part of his stomach flipped. Nothing had changed about the woman, but with the recent events, it somehow felt as if he was closer to her, more intimate, as if he knew her and her entire body... which he did. A deep flush rose to his cheeks.

"What are you standing there for, Ryoma? Sit down," the fortune teller told him, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them. Amusement twinkled in her eye. She looked him over placidly, waiting for him to make a move.

"Uh... yes, right." He blinked, facing the thoughts out of his head, settling into the wooden chair awkwardly. There were things he needed to say to her, but the words weren't quite forming on his tongue, not when he had dreamed so explicitly of her just hours ago. The images were still fresh in his mind. If she caught wind of them... As a samurai, he wasn't even supposed to have these thoughts in the first place. He blinked and bit his tongue, blushing, looking away from her face, down to her chest, and flushed more. Embarrassment was crawling along his skin.

"What is there to be shy about? You've already been here for some time." Rouge raised an eyebrow at him, watching as his cheeks darkened. It looked oddly attractive on him. A smile curved her lips, and she leaned forward, keeping her gaze on him. The samurai squirmed in his seat. Her interest was perked. Did something happen to him last night? Was he shy because of how much he had seen of her?

"Rouge- you do interpret dreams, don't you?" he blurted, eyes pausing on her momentarily, before flitting away. She raised her eyebrows, nodding for him to go on. "W-well, when you keep dreaming of someone, but in the dreams she wears less than she's supposed to..."

The man was fidgeting in his seat by now, face red, nervously fingering the tablecloth. So that was where his issue lay. It was interesting how someone with his supposed self-restraint could be so affected by his hormones. She allowed herself to dwell on the image of his hormone-afflicted body, hiding a tiny smile. But then the thought struck her that she might not be the only female around, and he might not be dreaming of her. The curve of her lips straightened. Rouge did not want to admit that a spark of envy shot through her middle. She wanted Ryoma for herself. "Oh, it's a 'she'?"

He nodded, cheeks tinged with red, looking fixatedly down at the table. His reaction softened her mood. "It's just so frustrating! I don't want any of those dreams at all, I have my training to think about!"

"Well, it's obvious what your dreams mean," she murmured, trying to keep the playful smile off her face. He looked back at her, and she admired his dark eyes and set jaw, wondering what it would be like to caress his throat. Instead, she settled for resting her hand on his, touching his warm, large fingers, curling her digits under his. The pads of his fingers were rough. He twitched, staring at her hand as if she was an animal. "Your body wants her."

"What?" He raised his voice. The samurai snatched his hand away, his blush growing deeper. His lips moved, but no sound escaped from them. It looked as if he was going to protest, but could not find the words for it. "I can't possibly-"

"Hey. What happened to you last night?" she cut in, frowning slightly, remembering the worry from before. It hadn't slipped her mind how worn he looked the previous night, even though he did seem better now. The blush on his cheeks faded away.

"I was in another fight with Tsurugi, and I lost again." A growl escaped from his throat, low and guttural. He rested his hands on his lap, frowning, looking back at her. "It's frustrating, because I've been training so hard, and he just won so easily. I'm careless. I've let my _sensei_ down."

"I'm so sorry, Ryoma." She frowned. He looked so dejected that she felt compelled to go over and give him a hug, though he probably would not appreciate it. Her lips pressed together, betraying her dilemma. Somehow, she just didn't quite want to see him unhappy. Did he mean something to her? "Have you any plans after this, then?"

"Yes, I do, actually. I'm going to leave this place and travel through the rest of Sunland in search of greater warriors." He folded his arms, staring at something beyond her shoulder. She felt as though her quarry was slipping from her grasp. "I guess this might be the last time we'll see each other for a while."

The prospect of that hardly sounded good. It spelt the drifting apart of friends, and she had not had her chance to find out what was beneath those baggy clothes of his. Her worsening mood took a turn for the better when she recalled her own plans. "I'm leaving Sunland tomorrow, Ryoma." He looked up at her in surprise. "Something bad is happening in my hometown, and I have to return. Since it might be dangerous, do you want to come with me on this trip?" She sent him her most charming smile, hoping that he would somehow be swayed.

"I... don't know." He frowned, dipping his head in thought. "What's going on there?"

"I'm not exactly sure myself. All I saw was a dark shadow across the town... You could see it as an opportunity to train," Rouge added, inclining her head and looking at him. If anything, this would prolong their time together for a short while, until she was able to get a grasp of what was going on in Mahdad. "After all, you've never been there, have you?"

"A dark shadow? You're right, I haven't," he admitted grudgingly, rubbing his chin. She watched him with hope, pulse quickening. "I guess travelling with you might not be too hard..."

She almost leaped out of her chair. Biting her lip to contain the well of excitement in her chest, Rouge offered him a smile, her worries diminishing by a notch. "Thank you." If he had allowed it, she would have at least touched his hand. "The ship leaves for Fireland at eight tomorrow, in the morning. Is that fine with you?"

"It is. I've got all my possessions on me." The samurai gestured to the green pouch across his chest, not quite looking at her. It was as if he had taken up a double-edged sword. As much as he liked talking with Rouge, she made him feel things he shouldn't. All he could do now was to hope that nothing like the previous night's incident happened again. Speaking of which... "Why were you dressed that way last night?"

He realised how awkward the question was right after it left his mouth. The heat rising on his cheek grew when the image flashed into his mind.

"Oh, some man - a pilot - asked me out to watch a play," she divulged, watching him in amusement.

A few things flashed through his mind at the same time. A man? Was he interested in her? Was she keen on him? How long had they been meeting like that? He felt envious, though he couldn't explain why he did. Wasn't Rouge interested in him? "I- uhh..."

"I'm still very interested in you, Ryoma." She gave him a playful smile, leaning forward in a way that drew his gaze to her chest.

His eyes widened, and he leaned away, forcing those thoughts from his mind. He would have to get used to her presence sometime other than right now. The samurai pushed himself to his feet, aware of her gaze, not daring to return it. His heart tripped. "I'll see you tomorrow at the harbour!"

Ryoma left the fortune teller watching him as he exited the tent hurriedly, leaving the cloth flaps swaying.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Notes: **Not having much faith in this story at the moment, I don't know if I'm doing things right. x-x Hopefully this chapter will give some insight into the characters.  
_

* * *

"Ryoma, over here!"

He turned and searched for the owner of the voice, slight excitement gnawing in his middle. Rouge was standing about ten yards away on the cobblestone harbour, tiptoeing and waving at him over the bobbing heads of the harbour crowd.

Workers on the dock bustled to and fro, carting luggage and cargo up the ships, operating small cranes to shift heavy wooden crates onto ready decks. Locals and visitors alike milled about, some having just disembarked, some awaiting journeys of their own. Parasols peppered the mass of heads, shielding genteel ladies of well-off families while children shrieked and played games of Chase around their disapproving mothers. Ships and large wooden boats were docked at the stone jetties close by. Glimmering waves lapped at their sides, reflective of the cheerful, cloudless sky. Deep horns sounded occasionally, alerting passengers to the departing ships.

Subconsciously, oblivious to his surroundings, Ryoma let his eyes roam over the fortune teller, even though he had just seen her the day before. She was dressed as she usually was, the amethyst on her head glowing in the early morning sunlight. A broad white strap was slung over her shoulder, attached on either end to a sturdy sling bag. Part of it bulged slightly over what could only have been her crystal ball. She smiled and stepped up to him, hands by her side. Her face glowed in a way that made his breath catch.

"Ready for the trip?" Her eye scanned over him, seeming to take stock of what he had. He did not miss the solemnity in her expression. Ryoma found himself wondering about her veiled eye. Did it look the same as the other, or was she hiding some kind of mark? What of her tent and possessions?

"A warrior is always ready for anything," he told her confidently, standing a little taller. As long as he had his swords, he wasn't afraid of any creature that breathed. That was what his _sensei_ had taught him. It had proven true to date.

She broke into a smile, catching his hand and tugging him along. "I knew you'd say that! Come on, let's get going. The ship's departing in fifteen minutes."

Heat rose to his cheeks at the feel of her warm hand around his. The gesture was an intimate one that he did not want to be caught dead doing, yet here she was, hand in hand with him as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. Weakly, he tried to free his fingers, trailing behind her. "I don't need my hand to be held!"

Even if it did feel good.

The woman either ignored him or missed his words, looking to her left and right. The golden bangle at the end of her swaying braid glinted. It was a brisk walk to their ship, a weather-beaten vessel painted red and white, with two rows of windows along its sides. It was by no means a huge liner, just a medium-sized ship with a double-storey deck, transporting both cargo and passengers to Fireland on a two-day trip. Grey smoke billowed out of its three funnels. Passengers hurried up the metal gangway, and the ticket-taker called for the last passengers to board.

"Here, I've got our tickets," Rouge murmured, finally releasing his hand to reach into her sling bag for their passes.

He blinked, remembering that tickets were required for the journey. For reasons he couldn't explain, seeing her had driven logic from his mind. A sense of appreciation for the woman came over him, despite his wariness. "Wow, you're one thoughtful woman, Rouge!" he let slip.

She blushed prettily, looking away as they approached the ticket collector, a pudgy man dressed smartly in a black uniform. Ryoma felt his pulse quicken, then a slight burst of envy and possessiveness, when the man ogled Rouge's retreating figure, stepping between them to hinder the latter's view. Surely this did not mean that he felt anything for the fortune teller other than friendship.

Once she set foot on the deck, Rouge turned towards him, gazing at him through her lashes. "You're a great man yourself, _Ryoma_."

His heart and feet stumbled simultaneously. Nervously, he backed away from her, casting about his mind for an escape. He should not have agreed to come in the first place. The woman was still a threat to his training even when he was here to help her. His cheeks coloured. "I've told you not to tease me like that!"

"All right, I'll try not to." She inclined her head, gold earrings dangling from her ears, pink lips curving in a mischievous smile. "What about standing over there? I'd love to see the last of Sunland for a while."

Without waiting for him to respond, she strolled off to the side of the deck, gazing down at the busy harbour. Ryoma exhaled and followed her, ignoring the glances the civilians threw at his swords. Were things going to be this way for the rest of the journey? Realising that she had moved quite a few paces ahead, he quickened his speed, joining her by the raised parapet around the deck, where other passengers were gathering. She had folded her slim arms on the smooth surface of the wall, gazing into the crowd below.

A massive, deep horn rippled through the air as the deckhands pulled the gangplank up the ship and stowed it away, allowing the vessel to slowly depart from the harbour. Water lapped strongly at the side of the ship, as if bidding it a safe trip. Not far below, people shouted goodbyes and waved, receiving waves and yells from the passengers on board. The collection of heads and bodies looked very much the same. He had to shout to catch her attention. "Is anyone sending you off?"

Her response of "No, but that's okay," was lost in the cacophony of noise. Instead, he felt her slip an arm around his, hugging it loosely. The resulting blush crept right up to his ears when his hand pressed into the side of her pants, arm brushing the warm curve of her bra. Ryoma squirmed. It wouldn't do to touch her, especially not _there_...

He tried to pull away, but they were well hemmed in by the mass of passengers bidding their loved ones goodbye.

Rouge pointed to something outside the ship suddenly. He followed her finger, squinting a little as they slowly gathered speed, sailing further away from Sunland.

Pushing his way to the front of the crowd was a blond, dressed bulkily in red. It was definitely not Tsurugi. The man reached the front of the jetty and waved, jumping about. A stick-thin male joined him, dressed in some butler's suit, silver-haired and agitated with the former's antics. Rouge waved at them with her free hand, laughing, surprise evident on her face. One or both of them were yelling, he could not be sure. What he was certain of, though, was the envy he felt at the familiarity she greeted them with. Somehow, it was almost as if she should be the most acquainted with him, but he did not know why. He cursed those hormones of his.

It was a while before Sunland became a speck on the horizon. The gathered passengers slowly drifted to the other parts of the ship, standing around on the deck or retiring below. Quiet filled the air, accompanied by a gentle sea breeze. There was a sense of finality to this, that made him feel as though he would not be seeing the prosperous town for a fair while. He turned to Rouge and blinked, startled.

She had been watching him for quite some time whilst he was lost in thought. The steady gaze of hers brought with it a little discomfort as he tried to end the silence. Why had she been staring? "Who were those two people who came to see you off?"

"Oh, that was the pilot I told you about," she explained, leaning into his arm. "The one who brought me to the play the other night. That was his butler with him, I think. Why, what's wrong?"

Ryoma struggled with the conflicting bubble of envy and logic, trying to drive jealousy out of his head. He had no right to think of Rouge as belonging to him in any way. As a samurai, he was bound for bachelorhood, and telling the fortune teller that would only implicate relations between them if she wanted something more. Thus, Ryoma remained silent.

She stared at him oddly, before releasing his arm, her smile never quite leaving her lips. Was she really that happy to be with him? Rouge touched his forearm with a soft finger, turning away from the water. Heat pressed into his skin. "Let's take a look at our room, Ryoma."

He was almost about to agree. Dread started to pile in his chest. "Wait, did you just say 'room'? We're sharing a room?

"Oh come on, surely it can't be all that bad," she coaxed him, curling her fingers around his. His mind screamed at him to let go. His feet refused to budge. Of all the scandalous things, she just had to choose sharing a room with him. It spelt nothing but danger. She smirked at him, her single eye twinkling. "Surely a warrior like you isn't afraid of looking into a bedroom."

That got him moving, though he tried to protest his innocence along the way. It was unsettling how she managed to wind him around her little finger with no effort at all. This had to stop soon.

* * *

"Hey, at least it's a couple of bunk beds, not a double bed," Rouge told the samurai light-heartedly, looking around the rest of the room. There was a single electric lamp hanging from the ceiling, and a sole round metal-edged window at the far end of the cramped room. On either sides of the door were bunk beds, each with yellowed pillows and thin mattresses. A small cupboard was backed up against the wall, its sky blue paint fading, and a tiny table with a matching wooden chair sat next to the window. Faint floral patterns adorned the walls. "Quite a decent room, if you ask me."

They were both standing in the aisle between the beds. Ryoma had left the door slightly ajar when they entered, unwilling to shut himself in the same room with the woman. Somehow the cabin seemed much smaller when they were both in it, closing them in and heightening their intimacy.

"But it isn't honourable for me to share a room with you, Rouge! I'm a samurai!" She spotted a trace of crimson of his face. That shyness amused and endeared him to her - if he only knew. Choosing to ignore his statement, she took an estimate of the bunks. They were about two-and-a-half feet wide each, suitable for just one person, but it would be a tight squeeze if two were to fit. It was probably wrong to indulge in such thoughts when her hometown was in danger. There was, however, little she could do while travelling. Spending her time well with Ryoma was a good alternative, especially if this was their last trip together. She wanted a taste of his body.

"It'll only be dishonourable if you try to rape me," she volunteered, her lips twitching in a smile. It was a delectable thought. Ryoma's entire face reddened as he sputtered, trying to come up with a defense.

Just as suddenly as the colour appeared, it was gone, when the floor tipped by a fraction under them, first to one side, then to the other. Ryoma clapped a hand to his mouth, paling. She was instantly on the alert, looking sharply at him and pushing on his shoulder to guide him down onto the bed. He was seasick. This did not bear well for their trip, should anything untoward happen.

He tried to resist, staying resolutely on his feet, relegating his arm to his side. His eyes avoided hers, though the sallow tone of his skin remained. "I'm fine, Rouge."

"No, you aren't," she retorted, prodding his stomach. He blanched a little more. The man was sure stubborn about keeping up his display of strength. The flesh behind his _kimono_ top felt hard and strong, she could not help noting. It took some restraint to keep herself from feeling him up. His response completed the job easily.

"I'm a samurai, I can overcome this with some training!" He spoke a little thickly now, although his determination remained unwavering. He shifted his feet towards the door. "I'll go back upstairs and get started on it."

Her patience snapped suddenly - even she had not expected it of herself. Glaring fiercely at him, Rouge stepped forward, pushing at his chest with a finger, raising her voice. "Well, _samurai_, you aren't going to get much training done if your body isn't well enough to handle it! You aren't fooling me trying to be strong."

"I'm well enough for a slight bit of exercise!" he protested, turning away, looking wary of her. His eyes had widened at her outburst.

Rouge reached behind the man, shoving the door shut and easing herself between the entrance and him, feeling smooth wood against her back. He froze. There was barely inches between them now. She could almost feel the warmth emanating from his body. Her glare remained, preventing him from moving. There was no way he would touch her to exit. She had effectively trapped him in the room.

The ship proved her point by giving another small roll that sent more blood draining from his face. It scarcely affected her physical comfort. Without a word, Ryoma sat heavily down on the bunk closer to him, frowning at nothing in particular. "I guess you're right, Rouge."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. Without pausing to let him change his decision, she stepped over and pushed at his shoulder to guide him further onto the bed. "Lie down and close your eyes, you'll have plenty of time to train after this."

He drew his swords out of his sash, placing them neatly on the far side of the bunk with a light clatter. The forest-green pouch came off next. She watched as he left the straw slippers on the floor, sitting back on the bed. "I'm not closing my eyes with you around!"

Now that he was on his way to some rest, her anger had ebbed away. She smirked, planting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him back down onto the mattress, so that his head nestled onto the pillows. A grunt of protest sounded from his throat. He tried to resist, gaze falling to the exposed cleavage of her bra. The blush was starting to arise again. She felt her nipples harden within their bounds, lowering her chest by a fraction to give him a fuller view of her breasts. His gaze seared over her skin. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I don't have to sit on you to keep you down, do I?" she murmured, eyeing the sliver of his chest exposed by his _kimono_ top. Him being _up_ was a more delightful option, that she would keep to herself for the present.

"No, you don't!" He kept his eyes shut, turning away from her. The man looked taller than he was, all stretched out on the bed. She stood and admired his form for moments, wondering how his hard body would feel languidly stretched out beneath her. Ribbons of heat coiled in her middle.

Rouge fetched the chair from the other side of the room, depositing her bag on the table. The wooden chair lifted easily, barely fitting into the gap between their beds. He twitched when she settled down, watching him without a sound. The only noises came from outside, of people walking along the corridor and faint talking above deck.

Left with nothing to do, she found herself observing his face, how tanned his skin was from training under the sun, how his brows had relaxed slightly. His nose was stubby, just above a set of firm lips that probably needed some teasing before they yielded. Rouge was overcome by a sudden urge to touch them, feel their velvety texture beneath her fingertip. What if she forced a kiss from them?

His breathing evened out, suggesting that he might have fallen asleep. The dull material of his khaki vest rose and fell. Licking her lips, she smiled. This might be her chance to get up to some mischief, if luck allowed it.

Excitement rushed into her veins. She reached over gingerly with her finger, balancing carefully on her chair to prevent it from creaking. He remained fast asleep. The man hardly seemed to sense her movement as she held her breath, inching her fingertip over his face, till his warm breath fanned over her nail. Her heart pounded. Rouge bit her lip, her finger quivering slightly as she hovered it above his lips, a hair's breadth away. She was going to stroke his bottom lip, then his top, maybe even trail a line down his jaw.

His eyes snapped open suddenly, sending her jerking her hand back, pushing her entire body away from him, heart slamming into her ribs. A yelp tore from her throat. Ryoma looked sharply at her.

"What were you doing?"

"I was... um, looking at your swords," she lied, a flush creeping up her throat and across her cheeks. "How did you get them?"

She was unaware of her ragged breathing until his gaze fell to her chest, the white undergarment rising and falling rapidly. Her blush deepened; he seemed to wrench his meandering gaze back to her face. It would satisfy her curiosity to find out what went through that head of his.

He stared suspiciously at her. It was a while before he replied, turning his face away, looking up at the ceiling. The tips of his tied-up hair brushed the sheets. "My _sensei_ gave them to me."

"Is he still alive?" She bit her lip immediately after, cursing herself for her bluntness.

"Of course he is!" He looked askance at her. "He has his own dojo in Moonland, and has been there for years."

"Did you spend a long time there as well?" She was starting to calm down, taking an interest in his history. Only then did she realise she knew close to nothing about him. Guilt waggled its finger at her.

"I've been there ever since I was six. After my father passed away from an illness, my mother begged Akuma-sensei to take me in as his disciple... He was a good teacher, but very strict." There was a distant look in his eyes as he glanced back upwards, rubbing his chin.

She leaned forward, holding the edges of her chair slightly, keen on hearing further. Ryoma felt more real to her somehow. While before, he was a friend she concentrated on bedding, the man was now someone she took far more seriously. "What about your mother? Is she well?"

"I do hope so. Akuma-sensei agreed to take care of her while I'm away on my travels. It's why I have to train so hard. I can't let both my _sensei_ and my mother down, they've done so much for me. My mother's been growing and selling flowers to keep us afloat after my father was gone."

"That must have been difficult." She was starting to feel a little sorry for him, resting her hand on his mattress. Hesitantly, she ventured, "Do you miss your father?"

"I don't know. I was too young to remember much of him then... _Sensei_ took his place in my life as a father to me, even though it wasn't necessary for him to. He taught me to fish when we went on trips to the river bordering Moonland, and even enlightened me with his honour code. I'm indebted to him."

"Your _sensei_ must be very important to you, then," she observed, watching the familiar resolve set into his eyes. It was admirable and attractive at the same time. Something in her softened.

"He truly is a great man. I hope to be like him in everything I do." He chanced a glance at her. Hazy emotion and a very slight vulnerability swirled in his inky eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. She watched as his gaze flickered to his swords. "You may look at them."

Warmth flickered in her chest. His permission to touch those swords signified his trust in her, that she did not think she deserved. Rouge swallowed, looking over at his swords, acutely aware of his gaze on her.

Carefully, she reached over and slipped her fingers under his black-sheathed _wakizashi_, lifting it over to herself. It was surprisingly light for a metallic object. The ebony lacquered scabbard gleamed dimly, engravings breaking the reflection of the electric lamp. The designs were exquisite and smoothly carved, blooming from the opening of the sheath to the very end in the form of a sleek, coiled dragon. The carvings were marked with a deep red paint, as if to emphasize the lethality of the sword. She ran a finger over the dragon in awe, noting how it seemed to threaten the beholder. The etchings were so fine that they looked a sheen of red from a distance.

She looked up at him, returning the expectant gaze. "It's beautiful."

His lips twitched up in the hint of a smile. It transformed his appearance into something more youthful, and a tad so handsome that she bit her lip and glanced away, suddenly shy. She certainly had not thought that of him when they first met. Belatedly, she hoped that he had not taken her gesture as an insult. He seemed unaware of it. Across his prone body, she could see the sheath of his _katana_, which was a striking crimson, and decorated with two painted maroon stripes on the broader end. There were carvings as well, though these were just made up of lines and curves, painted white. Black cloth bound the handle of his sword. It was wider than the first weapon, and looked far heavier.

Silently, she replaced the _wakizashi_ next to him, settling back into the seat between their beds. It felt as if there was a new proximity between them now, like they were connected in some way. "Thank you so much, Ryoma."

A tinge of red rose on his face, from the tips of his ears, down part of his throat. He looked away and laughed nervously to hide his blush, not shifting any further from her. "I- It was nothing."

Rouge relished his shyness, resting her fingers on his sleeved arm. A smile tugged at her lips. His warmth brought to mind the task they had set out for, drawing her back to reality with a heavy thud. Mahdad was still far from being out of danger, and she could not help wondering if Ganna was safe. She had not spoken a word to her mentor ever since she left. It had been a hot, still morning that day.

_"You dreamed of a red moon?"_ Ganna had asked, mild surprise written over her aged face. Her eyes had glittered strangely, and she had placed a calloused hand on Rouge's clasped ones, taking a seat next to her on her worn bed. _"What did you see beneath the moon?" _

_"I saw myself holding a crystal ball,"_ she had answered with trepidation, studying the older woman's face, nervous with uncertainty. Mistress Ganna, who was old and wise, would know what the strange vision meant, for better or worse.

Her mentor's eyes had widened, and brightened with a gleam of pride. It occurred to Rouge that, being the Seer she was, Ganna had already foretold this day.

_"It means, my daughter, that you're to become this town's Oracle one day."_

She remembered vividly how her heart had stopped, and how she couldn't breathe. Ganna was already the Oracle, and she could not bear to think of the day when the woman had to leave her, when she had to take over the position. It was just not fair to benefit from any harm coming to Ganna. That, and she had no confidence of her abilities as a Seer for the entire town. _"I don't think I can, Mistress Ganna. I'm not good enough yet!"_

At eighteen years of age, she had pleaded with Ganna to at least let her delay the transfer of her responsibility. The fastest way she could build her experiences, she decided, was to travel the world. Her readings would be varied, and she would learn to deal with cultures across different countries. Ganna had very reluctantly allowed her to travel alone, because Rouge had not many close friends in Mahdad. The other females her age had been friendly with her, but none of them wanted, nor were permitted, to undertake the journey with her. Males had been out of the question. It was unspeakable to have an unmarried man and woman together for long periods of time.

On hindsight, Rouge felt that she had come a long way on her own, having spent the last five years travelling from country to country. It was still too soon for her to return as an Oracle, however. Not when she had not claimed her taste of Ryoma. The image of the samurai dropped her back into the present like a stone splashing into water.

Glancing over at her bag, she saw the vague shape of her crystal ball, her spirits sinking. The omen she had seen in her dream was a serious one. Nothing told of when the danger had started, nor what it was exactly. All she could tell herself was that Ganna was still alive and well.

"What's wrong?" Ryoma asked from the bed, his brows creased with concern as he watched her. By now, his pallid skin had regained a healthier glow. She found herself thankful for his recovery.

"I don't know... That dream I had worries me. Something bad might already have sunken its claws into Mahdad, and I'm worried for Ganna's safety." She looked down at her hands, wishing the boat would hurry to spare her of her wondering. Helplessness nagged at her conscience.

"Don't worry, Rouge. I'll make sure things go well for you." He patted her hand awkwardly, easily covering her palm with his large one. She tried to smile past the ripening worry, heart fluttering at his offer. It was starting to feel as if he was taking over her mind, with how much she thought about the man. This wasn't right, it was too dangerous. "Who is Ganna?"

Rouge blinked. She had forgotten that she never quite shed light on her past for him. And Ganna was so many things to her that she had to pick her words carefully. "Ganna is the Oracle of my hometown. She is... like a mother to me. She brought me in from the streets when I was five - I ran away from a children's home," she added at the quizzical lift of his eyebrows. Somehow, it felt important for him not to think badly of her, in case she chased him off with the slightest misdeed. "She clothed me and put a roof over my head in return for nothing, only that I remained a good child and did not commit any crimes... And she also taught me to read a crystal ball-"

"Can anyone do that?"

"No, as you have seen. But she saw that I have a gift for it, and she gave me the crystal ball I've been using." Ryoma's eyes flickered to her satchel on the table, before returning to her. "She was also my best friend for the longest time. I only have a few of them."

"It's hard to believe that you don't have many friends." The samurai slowly eased himself up on the bed, waving off her attempts to urge him back down. Now that he was looking at her at eye level, it felt a little intimidating holding his gaze, knowing that he knew enough to attack where she was vulnerable.

"Not everyone trusts the girl who dresses in far less than what the society dictates, and is still the Oracle's favourite student." She shrugged. "An Oracle is supposed to be upright and virginal." Inwardly she winced. She wasn't exactly a virgin.

"I trust you." he stared at her confidently, setting his hands on his knees. Rouge tried to quell the guilty thump of her heart. Would he still trust her if he knew what she truly was like? Probably not. It was far easier to force it out of her mind. She avoided his gaze, following the stiff binds of cloth around his hair, which ended in a raven brush. She did not - could not - trust him to stay.

A laugh bubbled from her lips, uncharacteristically mirthless. "Well, you shouldn't."

"I will until you prove me wrong." He stared at her almost insolently and paused for a moment, thinking. "I've been meaning to ask you - what of your tent and belongings in the town square?"

She blinked, lifted from the rut of self-derision. It surprised her that he had thought of it. "I've left them with a friend of mine, the pewter-seller's wife. She's kept them in storage for me, and will send them on their way when I require them back."

"Sounds good to me." Ryoma shifted closer to her. For a moment, her heart lifted in hope that he might reach over and touch her again, but he did not. Instead, he eased his feet into his slippers, collecting his swords swiftly. The clatter of wooden scabbards gave an air of finality to the conversation. "What do you say to some lunch? Can't keep a warrior starving!"

She sighed and followed him to the door, shaking her head, finally storing her doubts away. Perhaps all that talk about being a warrior was only to disguise his love for food.

* * *

Lunch had been a quiet business. They had joined the tens of other passengers in a dining room, that had mirrors along the walls, and simple gilded chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Pearly floral wallpaper started where the mirrors ended, adding an air of opulence to the seemingly larger space. Throughout, there was the murmur of different voices mingling and cutlery clinking, as well as the occasional wail of a baby. The tables were all covered with white cloth, the chairs cushioned. It had been a class or two above their cabin.

Rouge had found out that the samurai loved noodles with soup - in exchange, he had reaffirmed her love for ice cream. Full with a decent lunch of corn, stewed chicken, mashed potatoes and greens, they had wandered to the deck to savour the sea breeze, watching as the infrequent dolphin glided alongside their ship.

The weather had seemed to disagree with the pleasant day. Deep grey clouds marched across the horizon, slowly advancing on them, as if closing in on a prey that had no means of escape. Their venture onto the deck had been cut short when the vessel started to rock, throwing Ryoma unceremoniously into nausea. Thus, they had returned to the confines of their small room, the samurai protesting Rouge's presence, claiming that he could well cope on his own. She had ignored him. As it was, they had remained in the room for a handful of hours while the clouds held from the attack, glowering angrily down at the ship. Roiling waves sent the vessel seesawing.

"It's close to dinner now. Why don't I go upstairs and see if there's anything for you when you're feeling better, Ryoma?" Rouge asked from her seat, watching his pale face worriedly. His swords were next to him once again, like faithful sentinels keeping watch on their master. At the doubtful lift of his brow, she continued, "It's bound to stop sooner or later, and you need your strength."

"I guess you could," he ground out, though she could see his effort to appear less affected by the rocking of the ship. It probably would not help to tell him that everyone had weaknesses, and that she did not think him any less of a man because of motion illness. Perhaps she could distract him long enough from the nausea to prove it? He spotted the playful wandering of her gaze and frowned; she patted his hand, smiling at him in question. "Thanks for being there for me, Rouge."

"You're welcome," she murmured, leaning down and cradling his head in her arms on impulse. Especially audible was his shocked gasp of breath. Rouge stopped herself just before his face pressed fully into her cleavage, allowing the blunt conical tip of her bra to brush his cheek. Her heart fluttered. On their own volition, her lips curved in a playful smirk. She had released him before he could protest, making no mention of the manly blush on his cheeks as she headed out of the door.

It was quieter along the corridors with the rocking of the ship. More people had retreated to their rooms, and as she walked along the narrow passages, passengers tottered unsteadily past her, some with pasty faces. The holiday cheer was dampened with uncertainty as a hush fell over the ship. The majority of those not seasick, she guessed, were probably in the dining hall.

Placing a hand on the decorated walls steadied her. The embarrassed expression on Ryoma still tickled her senses, made her wonder what had gone through his mind. It kept a light smile tugging on her lips. Greyish light glowing from the ceiling of the corridors drove a shiver down her spine. They had to trust that the ship would pull through the incoming storm. Her smile faded; she took her lower lip between her teeth. The worsening weather would bat the ship around among the waves, and they had no time to waste being stuck in a storm. She had to know if the trip to Fireland would take longer than they had expected.

The split-second decision was made, and she turned a corner, taking a detour up, where she had remembered seeing the Captain's control room. As compared to those on land, the stairs on the ship were steep and narrow, almost constrictive. Rouge winced, climbing a set of metal-edged stairs that brought her to the deck. Wind swept at her hair the moment she stuck her head out of the stairwell. From where she was, she could see dark angry clouds plastering the entire sky. There were rough, deep voices behind the shelter of the exit.

Cautiously, she made her way onto the deck and turned, eyes widening at the sight of five burly men sitting around on some crates, idly exchanging words and puffs of smoke. Their lack of concern startled her. With how the ship was rocking back and forth, they had to be sailors to treat it casually. They were dressed in thin, worn shirts and baggy pants, shaven just enough to look decent. For some reason, they all had crew cuts. Perhaps the hairdo made it simpler to keep themselves tidy while sailing.

"Saw tha' broad yer took back last nigh', Pete. She any good?"

"Aye. Feisty lil' thing, dam tight she was. Rode me as hard as I was gunna pay her."

The others chortled. "Yer wife's gunna gut yer like a pike if yer don't watch it, mate."

Their banter died down when they grew aware of her presence. Five pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. Her stomach jerked and flipped in anxiety. These were men who could overpower her if she played her cards wrong. It was obvious that either the Captain's command room was close, or they knew where it was. She had to get her answers. Wishing Ryoma were fit enough to come onto the deck with her, she stepped bravely forward, swallowing hard when their gazes coasted lewdly down her body, anchoring to her breasts. As uncomfortable as their attention made her, the concentrated focus on her chest heightened her awareness of herself, pebbling her nipples slightly. Thank goodness for bra padding. She cleared her throat loudly, lifting her chin.

"I'd like to know where the Captain is," she told them in the most commanding tone she could manage, keeping her face devoid of her strained nerves. Her heart galloped at the looks they exchanged.

"What's a pretty girl like yer wanna do with the Cap'n?" One of them spoke up amid the snickers that broke loose, clearly the leader of the pack. His shrewd eyes pierced hers, taking the liberty to run a visual scan down her body. She shivered and bit her lip. "Cap'n's busy with the ship, yer know. Any of us 'ere can do jus' fine."

"I want to know how long we're going to take to reach Fireland," she bit out, staring sharply at him. Ryoma wasn't here, but she could deal with this herself. No way would she give up when she was this close to Ganna. "And I want to hear it from the Captain himself."

"Now see here, Miss, if every lady is gunna go up to the Cap'n and ask how bloody long the ship's gunna take, we'd be shipwrecked in no time." The sailor's bloodshot green eyes narrowed. He folded his arms. "Yer better off elsewhere."

"Like in me bed," one of the others piped up coarsely. She flushed lightly at the insult, turning her best glare on the man. He turned to his friends in mirth. "She's a feisty one too, whad'ya know!"

"I happen to have important business in Fireland to attend to, if you could please hurry up," she snapped loudly at them, her patience thinning. No way was she going to argue with them till night fell. She had given Ryoma her word that she would be back with food, and she damn well wasn't going to break it. Her fists clenched with irritation, heart pounding with taut nerves.

"There, there, Miss, we ain't gunna hurt you. We was just toyin' with you," the leader told her gruffly, gaze dropping to her hands. Her knuckles were white. He turned and walked away. "I'll take yer to the Cap'n."

Slowly exhaling a shuddering sigh of relief, Rouge glanced warily at the seated sailors, before stalking off behind their leader. The blatant gazes were still on her back, probably on the curve of her ass. She frowned and pushed their attention out of her mind, staying on the alert in case this sailor decided to round on her. Ryoma's attention would have been a hundredfold more welcome. There were a couple other tricks she could fall back on if need be, but it was best not to disclose them too early. The obvious, of course, was the spot men were most vulnerable at.

The control room turned out to be a few yards and a short flight of stairs away from where she had emerged on the deck. Cursing herself at the irony, Rouge nodded her thanks when the burly sailor held the rounded door open for her, stepping into the gently humming room.

"Miss got a question for yer, Cap'n," the sailor announced.

At the opening of the door, the Captain, as well as two other sailors present, had looked over from the wooden-carved steering wheel, his grey eyebrows raising in surprise when she stepped in. Rouge saw at once that he was a man of dignity, with his pressed navy-blue uniform and smart, polished cap. He smiled and nodded at her, wise face patient and undemanding. It almost felt as if he could be her father. She nodded back, finally relaxing, her face aglow when she returned the smile.

Around them, buttons and knobs stood neatly in rows, lit by small spotlights on the ceiling, and fading light slanting in through the glass windows. There were a couple of padded chairs around, but the old man remained on his feet. The gruff sailor stood at the door, just in case his services were required. To a side, the First and Second Mate examined a map spread out on a wide wooden table. Looking around, she realised that the control room was twice as large as her cabin.

"Bad day out to be sailing," the Captain remarked lightly, occasionally turning the knobbed wheel. She blinked at his calm, surprised. It had never been necessary to seek out the commander of her vessels prior to this.

"Indeed it is," she responded without missing a beat. Her gaze slid to the old man's face. "How do you do, Captain?"

"I'm fine, thank you." He shifted his eyes away from the front of the ship, glancing at her. "And what brings you here, young lady?"

"I have urgent business to tend to in Fireland, and I was hoping that you could tell me if the ship will be delayed much in this weather." She clasped her hands behind her back, lowering her chin. The captain seemed such a good person that she felt a twinge of guilt for inconveniencing him. "My apologies for intruding."

The man rested a palm on her shoulder, gazing upon her with a kindly face. "What business is it, if it's not too personal to share?"

"I want to make sure that my surrogate mother is safe." She breathed a sigh when he released her shoulder, wondering if not concentrating on the ship's path for a few moments might lead them off-course. The floor continued to rock beneath them. She ignored the fact that the sailors around might be listening in. "I've heard that my hometown is in danger."

"Oh dear." The Captain frowned, shaking his head. He returned his gaze to her. "I'll make sure we'll hit the port safely, young lady. If the storm ceases by tonight, we should be able to reach our destination by noon the day after tomorrow. I'm truly sorry about your situation."

"Thank you, Captain." She smiled gratefully at him, taking her leave. _Half a day off-schedule._

"Stay safe," he bade as she stepped out of the door, watching her through the window. With a final glance of appreciation at the old man, she thanked the sailor, not waiting for his grumbling reply, descending the stairs and stalking briskly through his mates. The nagging discomfort returned when they lay their eyes on her. Her skin prickled. All she wanted to think about was how she would be away from their lewd stares soon, and how she wished Ryoma was around. Gods, she missed that man.

Grasping the metal handrail, Rouge all but threw herself back down the narrow stairwell, heaving a breath of relief once she was out of sight again. The empty corridors looked almost welcoming. Now that she had a faint idea of when the ship would reach its destination, she was slightly less worried, though it did not prevent her from being anxious about the welfare of her mentor. At the very least, the sailors had not followed her down.

Rouge strode quietly through the maze of corridors, hoping to lose the sailors there if they had somehow tailed her. The dining hall was crowded with passengers. It was relatively simple to slip in unnoticed, mingling with the crowd to reach the food vendors at the far end. The large white handkerchief she had brought along was barely wide enough to store the buns she purchased for Ryoma and herself. It was heartening to see that there were others who did the same, be it due to necessity or a shortage of funds. She wove her way back out, finding her way to her cabin with more ease than the previous moments had been.

Ryoma looked up at her as she entered the cabin quietly, letting the door shut with a comforting click behind her. It was quiet in the room, and she felt far safer with the man's presence, unwilling as she was to admit it. The bundle of bread fell lightly onto her bed.

"You were gone longer than I expected. Did something happen?" He continued to watch her. There was nothing but concern in his voice, and it struck her how much she appreciated this man. It was as if she had found something in him, something intangible that she wanted to hold on to, with his honour, strength and endearing shyness. Her heart squeezed; she shivered at the memory of the sailors, their gazes as sharp as rakes on her skin.

"N-no, nothing did." Without reason, she sunk to her knees next to Ryoma, overwhelmed with the relief that he probably was not aware of, burying her face in his warm chest. Her trembling fingers curled into his _kimono_ top. She squeezed her eyes shut, revelling in his musky scent, wanting to forget everything except the hard planes of his chest, and how he had started to pat her head awkwardly. The encounter with the sailors was far from the worst blow she'd had, but even so, his mere presence brought her comfort, and his touch felt exquisite. She was already feeling better, but his warmth was too good to pull away from.

"May I sleep with you tonight, Ryoma?" Her words came out muffled against his shirt, a world away from what she had intended.

"What?" He stiffened, hand pausing in midair. Only then did she fully realise what she had asked of him.

"Uh, may I sleep next to you?" Rouge coloured, glanced up at him through her lashes, nuzzling his chest. He squirmed against her. She forced herself to pull away from him, to show that she could behave.

It was a long while before he finally answered. "All right. But don't try anything funny, I'm warning you!"

With a curbed enthusiasm, she sat herself on his mattress, easing off her slippers and climbing over him. He stared, eyes wide, blushing as he savoured the catlike grace of her body. There was no question that their positions were intimate. She settled into the sliver of space between him and his swords, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

"Aren't you going to eat?" She smelled of jasmines and the salty sea breeze.

"Maybe later," she purred.

Ryoma swallowed hard when she nestled into his pillow, wrapping her arms around his. On hindsight, this was ten bad ideas rolled into one. He bit his lip and tried to shift away to allow her more space on the narrow bunk. His heart thumped against his ribs. What on earth had he been thinking when he agreed? She hugged his arm more tightly, her eyes slipping shut, rubbing her body into him. Her soft breasts pressed into his biceps. This couldn't be happening. A steady flush rose on his cheeks.

"Rouge!" Oh, right. She had looked desperately in need of comfort.

"Oh! Sorry, Ryoma." The woman slipped him a foxy smile, drawing away slightly, her soft fingers trailing over his skin. His breath stumbled in his throat. The nausea was fading, but in return, blood was starting to stir in his loins. He pushed his head back into his pillow, trying to make himself disappear.

Filled with regret, Ryoma could only hope that she did not visit him in his dreams. This was going to be a hellishly long night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes: **Sorry this took so long, I was busy with Chapter 6... (The original, uncut chapters are released one chapter ahead of those on FFN, heh. :P) Much action going on within this chapter, and also quite a bit of censoring too. :P Tell me if you spot any spelling/grammatical errors, this chapter was a pain to edit - the original was about 13,000 words! Credits to **Silver Warrior** for proofreading my fight scene here... I'm taking credit for writing the entire thing myself! :D  
Oh, and Power Stone does not belong to me. :P They should employ me as a novel writer for the series though. :P Estimated number of chapters is 11... I just hope I can finish them before school starts. T.T

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_He was in an unfamiliar room this time, one with a narrow bed and a single electric lamp hanging from the ceiling. Light hardly made its presence known - the bulb emitted scarce luminescence, just sufficient for him to make out the presence of someone else next to him._

_She was decidedly female, he thought, when a breathy moan sounded next to his ear. His breath hitched. Without his knowledge, his blood had already begun to course along his veins, heightening his senses. Warmth crept languidly across his chest, lingering on his nipples. A blush rose on his cheeks. The exquisite softness of her fingers felt too real... because he was naked. The sharp curse died on his lips when teeth grazed his shoulder, pressing lightly into muscle. This was not supposed to happen, not _again_. Anxiety bit into his chest. He wasn't meant to involve himself in sexual activity with anyone, nor allow the intervals he took to realise his misdeeds grow yet larger each time._

_"Ryoma," she whispered. Trimmed nails drew lines of fire over his chest, sent blood pooling in his loins._

_"No, please," he begged, trying to push himself away and finding that he could not. Only then had he forced himself to look at her, dreading the worst, even as his body pressed for more of the gentle, probing touch._

_It was her again. Rouge. His stomach flipped. Her single eye gazed at him, hooded with lust and promise, lips full and pouting, ready for kisses anywhere on his body. He knew enough to recognise a woman in heat, and his body responded ferociously with desire, so much so that he had to clench his fists and glance away, to avoid succumbing to her gaze. But even without looking, he had known how her dusky nipples were pebbled, stark against her mocha-coloured skin, how the intimate spot between her legs was slick to receive him in his entirety._

_He was too late, however. The damage had been done, and he was hard and ready, straining upwards with lusty need. With his eyes shut, he could see the knowing smirk curving her lips, feel the answering blush that gave away what he attempted to hide._

_Her hand slipped lower, to his abdomen. He bit his lip, squirming, trying to inch away from the caress akin to silken flame. He cursed his hunger for her flesh, tried to push it from his mind. Her lips closed over his throat, lightly sucking. He moaned. His pulse jumped. His warrior's strength had fled, leaving him powerless to prevent the backs of her fingers from brushing his stiffness, satiating his anticipation and cementing his dread. Pleasure feathered into his length._

_He bit his lip and grunted, squeezing his eyes shut, moaning again when the pleasure increased, sliding fully on top of his arousal. Gods, he needed to be in her soft, hot tightness._

_-_

Ryoma woke with a start, his breathing ragged. At least that scene had been a dream. It disoriented him to find himself in a room he had not seen before, with a warm body pressed up against his, blood racing through his veins. Memories of the previous day returned; he was unnerved by how reflective the dream was of reality. He had fallen asleep on board the ship the night before, with Rouge by his side.

Why, then, was there a heavy, delicious pressure rocking against his groin?

Coming to his senses, he glanced down, heart in his throat, afraid that the dream had materialised. The sand-brown vest, navy _kimono_ top and _hakama_ were all in place... together with a mocha hand splayed across his chest, and a purple-clad thigh slung over his hips, grinding into his stiff flesh. He throbbed, even as he jerked away, trying to stop himself from pressing lewdly into Rouge's soft thigh.

As mortifying as their situation was, he could not help the spurt of lust that joined the pool between his legs, knowing that he had shared such intimate contact with the woman. Fervently, he hoped that her slender hand had not been there as well, even if he enjoyed the thought with lusty arousal. A small part of him did wish that her fingers had probed and found him worthy of desire. He beat it swiftly into submission.

"Ryoma," came the sleepy moan beside him. His heart stopped; the weight resting on his shoulder prevented him from sitting up, for fear of jerking her awake. Rouge sighed and pressed closer to him, her knee nudging his hard length through his clothes. Pleasure thrummed in his flesh. His cheeks flushed crimson. This could not be happening.

Sliding his gaze over to her, he heaved a breath of relief at her slumbering form, biting his lip when he caught sight of how her wavy locks curled over her bare shoulders. He could not breathe. She looked like an angel in the golden rays slanting through the small window, with her peaceful countenance and soft lips. Thankfully, she had not wanted to remove anything other than the collar-garment around her throat. The white bra and low-slung pants were temptation enough.

"Sorry, Rouge," he muttered, gently pushing her warm thigh aside, stopping her from having another go at his stiffness. He did immediately miss her warmth. With painful slowness, he eased himself out from under her, blushing harder at the sight of her plump breasts pushed together, his softening length stirring again. The man sat up to better conceal his arousal.

Damn himself for getting into this mess. He did not want to think about what Akuma-sensei would say if he caught wind of what had transpired between Rouge and himself, not when the fortune teller had had her fill of somehow feeling him up in her sleep. He should be punished for even enjoying the woman's illicit touches. A steep sense of guilt surrounded him, only marred when she stirred and cracked her eyes open, looking groggily at him. His attention fell to her parted lips, a little dry, but full and still compellingly touchable.

Ryoma tore his gaze away, disgust at himself threading through his conscience. He had failed _sensei_'s teachings, and the only way to rectify it seemed to be to avoid all physical contact with the fortune teller henceforth. Would that be forgivable? Would Rouge understand why he had to do this? He pushed himself to his feet, fighting the blush on his cheeks.

"Morning, Ryoma." Her voice was rough with sleep and utterly seductive - she stretched languidly on the bed, accentuating the arch of her chest. Rouge was, in all honesty, a beautiful creature. He clenched a fist to break himself from her allure. Was she doing this on purpose? "Did you sleep well?"

Only too well.

Ryoma took a deep breath. She had left him at a loss for words, remaining innocently unaware of it, with her hooded eye and sleepy half-smile. Damn that woman. She had grown on him in a way that he could not quite explain, and he wasn't sure that he would feel complete when the time came for them to part. Giving an offhand shrug, he reached over for his swords, ignoring the touch of her gaze on his skin. "Decently. I'll see you at the dining hall when you're done, Rouge."

"Sure." Rouge watched as he exited the room, smiling to herself. What the samurai did not know wouldn't hurt him.

They had spent the night before in awkward silence - awkward on his part, patient on hers. It had felt warm and safe curled up next to Ryoma's body, especially when he had not taken special care to avoid her like the plague. She could still see his expression vividly, when she had unclasped the satiny purple garment around her throat and shoulders, revealing more skin than she allowed most others to see. His eyes had widened, and he had blushed, turned away, keeping a sliver of attention on her that became apparent when she combed her braid loose.

No matter how hard he tried, the man could not keep his interest from her. It thrilled her to know of his liking, especially the physical response that he was barely able to contain. His body had let that slip mere hours ago.

She had feigned drowsiness, curling up with him, his arm snug against her body. He had acquiesced despite protesting. The feel of his strong arm between her breasts had been titillating, spurring her to wonder if he would have wanted her to massage any other part of him with her chest. She had seen him stare at her twin mounds, feel her body tense in response. Her curiosity was starting to grow. How would he react to her bare breasts?

It had taken quite some time for him to relax next to her, and yet more time for her to drape her arm onto his chest without arousing his suspicion. The telltale hitch of his breath had been all she needed to hear, before she had stopped and waited, eyes innocently shut, till he fell into slumber, an hour of squirming later.

To preserve her innocence, she had slid her knee over his thigh first, inching it along to his crotch. There had been a moment of triumph, when she lay her touch on what she had been eyeing for the past week. He did not rouse from sleep.

A little more cautiously, Rouge had slipped her hand beneath her knee, relishing the touch of his hard thigh, up to his crotch, slowly massaging the bulge through his clothes, until it swelled and grew beneath her fingers, sending sheer heat arrowing into her core. His breathing had deepened, but he gave no sign of waking, even when low grunts slipped from his lips. She had trailed her fingers along the hot length straining beneath his clothes, bitten her lip to stop her own aroused moan as she wondered how his naked flesh looked.

Even now, heat blossomed between her legs at the memory, and she whimpered, feeling her flesh swell with want, wetness leaking onto her clothes. With a resigned sigh, Rouge rolled over to where Ryoma had been lying moments ago, relishing his scent.

Damn that man.

* * *

It had rained in the wee hours of the morning, after they had fallen asleep. The deluge had left the sky bleak and cloudy come late morning, unable to shed more tears than the occasional drizzle. To match its mood, the sea had calmed as well, grey-blue and sulking as the ship made its way forward steadily. All around was water for miles on end, a seemingly uninhabited place if it weren't for the vessel brimming with life. Passengers had once again emerged onto the rain-soaked deck. Noise and chatter returned, bringing cheer to the milling people.

There had been a slight tension hanging between them when Rouge joined the samurai in the dining hall. It was, perhaps, born of the denied attraction each held for the other. When it became clear that Ryoma was not going to ease their discomfort, Rouge had leaned over the table, brushing his fingers with hers. The man had coloured and yanked his hand away, surprised indignation written across his features, until she teased the tautness from his body with friendly banter.

They had spent the rest of the dreary morning on the deck of the ship - Ryoma practising his sword strokes, Rouge watching him from a side. It occurred to the woman that she had not touched her crystal ball ever since they embarked, which meant that she would not know if there was anything they should anticipate. It was highly unlikely that misfortune should occur. Perhaps they could drop by their cabin before heading for their second meal of the day.

Watching Ryoma slice the air with his sheathed sword sent her thoughts spiralling into mischief. There was something very enticing about the way his muscles flexed, visible now that he had tied his sleeves up. His skin was starting to gleam with sweat, locks of hair clinging to his face. The man did not seem to mind her admiring attention, instead concentrating on his moves.

When the time came that his exercise ended, she stepped up to him, withdrawing a handkerchief and offering it wordlessly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. He accepted it with muttered thanks, ignoring the oohs and aahs of the small crowd that had gathered around. Now that he had stopped, they began to drift away, in search of entertainment on the otherwise-mundane voyage.

"Hungry?" She inclined her head, watching as he mopped his face with the square of cotton, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. His _wakizashi_ was back in place by his left thigh, deceptively harmless.

"Yes, I am. You know me pretty well, Rouge!"

Scarce moments after his careless remark, he paused momentarily, stepping up the vigour of wiping his sweat off, expression hidden by the white material. She caught the telling pinkness at the tips of his ears. Inexplicably, the vestiges of embarrassment stole along her nerves, sending heat across her cheeks. Surely the comment was less suggestive than he had meant it to be. She had no intention of pursuing a relationship with him aside from the physical.

Ryoma was the first to turn his head away. Her handkerchief remained tucked in his hand as he gave a strained, awkward laugh. Unwilling to have him detect her blush, she looked the other way, reaching back to toy with her braid. Taut as the moment was, it could not possibly last forever. There was no way she would allow matters between them to come apart, not when their physical chemistry was thick enough to require a sharpened blade, and her emotions towards him were a mess.

His stomach rumbled.

Her lips quirked involuntarily at the sound. It seemed that Ryoma could not be kept from his food any more than a bear could be kept from its berries. Shaking her head with a fond smile, Rouge slung her arm loosely through his, tugging him forward. "Lunch it is, then."

"Uh, sure!" He took some time before freeing himself from his daze, quickly extricating his arm from hers. Pink returned to his cheeks. "Don't touch me like that, Rouge! I'm a samurai - it's not appropriate."

She almost laughed. Touching his _arm_ was not appropriate? "Before we go to the dining hall, could we head back to our room first? I have to check on my crystal ball."

It almost seemed as if the man had something to say, but thought better of it and kept quiet, walking patiently alongside her. "Go ahead."

-

"Do you see anything in your crystal ball?" Ryoma peered over her shoulder, watching as she lifted the heavy sphere from the confines of her satchel, slowly setting it on the wooden table. He was standing so close that she could feel heat radiating from his body. A hint of ire threaded through her tone at his words.

"Be patient! I've only just got it out of my bag." Rouge glanced sidelong at him, settling into the small wooden chair. Her hands hovered around the clear globe. Almost immediately, the ball glowed a light blue. Her single eye grew blank, pupil dilated; her voice lowered. "_I see a skull with crossbones heading towards the ship. There is going to be danger, and many battles will be fought soon._"

_Boom!_

The floor beneath them trembled. Voices from above had rung out; there was shouting, and the hurried patter of feet on the deck, along the corridors. The rhythmic rocking of the ship had started again, just slight enough so that Ryoma paled by a fraction, frowning. They exchanged glances. Around, the muffled sound of a loudspeaker tried to make itself heard through the walls.

"Pirates," the samurai muttered, his eyes glittering with steely resolve. The thought of food had long been forgotten. She watched as his fingers curled around the ebony scabbard of his shorter sword, worry slinging into her middle. The rocking of the ship would only hinder him, and pirates were a rough bunch. They would take advantage of his seasickness. Rouge pushed herself to her feet.

She placed a hesitant hand on his arm just as he was about to turn and leave. Jet black eyes bore into hers, sending her stomach plummeting. "Are you certain that you have to go? The sailors should be well-prepared for them. You aren't feeling well, and pirates are merciless."

"I am a samurai, Rouge. It is my duty to offer help when I can. The ship needs my protection, and I will do my best no matter what it takes. You don't have to worry about me." He stared at her until she released his arm, about to part her lips to protest. "Stay here and take care of yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can."

A second blast sounded, sending another ripple through the ship. Ryoma's expression hardened.

They stared at each other, a lingering gaze that held for longer than it should. She felt a nagging urge to lean close and kiss him, but held back instead. He finally tore his eyes away and squared his shoulders, striding over to the door and disappearing behind it, shutting it firmly with a click.

Why was she left with the feeling that there was something more to their friendship they were both oblivious to?

* * *

"Make fair time wi' this 'ere ship, ye landlubbers, we ain't git all tide! Git on board, grab the'r grub an' be away wi' 't. Cooky's a-tellin' me tha' we ain't git much left t' be feastin' on, an' yer boss 'ere dasn't like 't." The yell carried clearly over the busy deck, flecking the nearest few men with saliva. None of them dared protest, especially not when the pirate captain himself had shouted in their ears.

Metal banged dully against wood. What had once been a hand was now a pair of blunt steel pincers, clacking ominously as the pirate waved it about in the air, commanding his men. With shaggy eyebrows and matted grey hair past his shoulders, the chief was the meanest and ugliest of all the men on board. His single eye was bloodshot and bulging, swivelling over a dark eye bag as he bared his few yellowed teeth, snarling at any who dawdled. The other eye was but a black emptiness, without an eyelid, and the skin around that eye had turned white. No one knew why. A scarred, reddened nose, the remnants of a fire, stood between stark cheekbones, adding to the unkemptness of his stubbly chin. He wore a dull blue pirate's hat, rimmed with gold. The rest of his suit matched his headwear - a high-collared coat with thick cuffs and gold buttons, gold trimmed, and black trousers just as richly hemmed. Dirty black boots completed his outfit.

"An' while yer at 't, grab the money an' trinkets an' roun' up them pretties!"

"Aye aye, Cap'n," they chorused.

This was Kraken, captain of his pirate gang, and leader of a ship as large as the one he was just about to rob. His crew of fifty-nine obeyed his every word, because he was going to be the one that got them fed at the end of the day. The wooden vessel they sailed was not one to be snubbed - Kraken had it fitted with powerful motors and propellers so it could travel almost as fast as a modern ship could. At the tip of the tallest mast was anchored a ratty flag - a black cloth on which was painted a skull and crossbones.

A low cackle burst from Kraken's mouth as his vessel approached its victim. His lackeys looped ropes around the posts at the sides of each ship, mooring them together. Others had picked their weapons off and vaulted across the parapets, beginning their invasion of the passenger ship. Kraken watched with satisfaction as the few remaining on board screamed and fled below deck, cackling. Those landlubbers were going to be like caged birds waiting to be plucked and eaten whole.

One of the pirates jogged up his platform, bowing his head respectfully. He was dressed like all the others, in a simple maroon vest and deep blue pants, hair an uncombed mess. "Cap'n, some'un's been a-shoutin' that there's a swordsm' on board, sir. Methinks me mateys'll be havin' trouble wi' th' lad. What be we goin' t' do?"

A swordsman, eh? He waved his metal pincer in the air, towards his own ship. A sly smile crept onto his wrinkled face. "Find 'em lily-livered louts Octo an' Puss an' tell 'em t' do the'r thin', savvy?"

"Yessir!" The man hurried off, feet clattering down the wooden stairs in excitement that the captain had sent him on a special errand.

This was just going to be like any other ship Kraken plundered. Even the weather was dreary and grey, exactly how he liked it.

* * *

Ryoma cursed as he took another wrong turn, running back to the corridor he had come from. It was difficult to, however, with panicked men, women and children yelling with fright, filling the passages and dashing back to their rooms, obstructing his progress. The slight roiling of his stomach was not helping either. _Honestly, were these men at all?_ He shouted at the males to pick up their arms and defend the ship, instead of behaving like the cowards they seemed to be. Some of them listened, pledged that they would come to his aid once they had their families safe.

At length, he found the exit to the deck, suddenly shadowed at the opening by a dirty, snarling pirate, clothed in purple-red and blue, wielding a cutlass. The samurai narrowed his eyes. This he could handle easily. Taking the steep steps up in twos, he unsheathed his _wakizashi_ at the last moment, flinging it upwards to parry the downward stroke the pirate had lashed, skilfully flicking his wrist and disarming his opponent, sending the curved sword skidding to a side.

The pirate cursed in horror, reaching for the knife buckled at his thigh, shortly before Ryoma slipped behind him, dealing a swift chop to his neck. The villain collapsed onto the floor in an unconscious heap.

"Don't they ever teach you how to fight?" The samurai muttered, roughly shoving the body to a side to prevent obstruction, before kicking the plunderer's weapons away.

Shadows darkened the floor next to his feet, signalling the approach of more attackers. Whipping around, Ryoma sidestepped two separate slices through the air, easily defending himself from more sword blows with his own, driving the hilt of his _wakizashi_ into their middles, winding the men and bringing them to their knees in pain. As with the first pirate, he knocked them unconscious with a stroke to the napes of their necks, noticing too late the handful of plunderers that had stolen down the stairs, his stomach sinking. With luck, Rouge would remain safe. He would finish off the pirates on deck and head down to rescue her if need be.

Ryoma took a quick scan of the deck. To the left, a large wooden ship clung to the side of their vessel, blocking out most of the sky with its riggings and sails. More importantly, there were dozens of pirates climbing onto the deck, every single one of them armed. Some of them had slipped off to the sides of the ship, where they were too far away for him to deal with. What of the other sailors on board? He had caught glimpses of them, and they looked tough enough to protect their livelihood. Sure enough, sounds of gruff hollering had started up, accompanied by clangs of metal.

All that was left to deal with, then, was the growing swarm of pirates heading towards him, dressed in maroon and blue and brandishing their weapons, as well as the blue figure which stood high on the pirate ship, watching. That was undoubtedly the captain.

With a last glance at the chief villain, Ryoma charged forward, swiftly knocking the frontmost pirates out. Strangely enough, they seemed to avoid him, instead circling him and gathering around behind, starting their offense from there. This wasn't right. Why were they forcing him towards their own ship?

There came a flurry of knives strokes and stabs that seemed to surround him, and he stopped pondering the question. Confident in taking them all down, he attuned his senses to each knife point that thrust forward, nimbly dodging them, disarming each pirate in turn while parrying the attacks. He was starting to reach for his _katana_, the longer sword with a wider range, when the low whistle of an object from behind caught his ears.

Before he could turn to dodge it, something large, spiked and heavy slammed into his back. It drilled sharp pain into various points in his flesh, ripping into his clothes and piercing skin, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him sprawling across the deck. His cheek smacked into the floor. Ears ringing from the impact, he lost his grip on the sword, cracking his eyes open, sucking air in painfully. The growl that slipped from his throat sounded like a grunt of pain. Yet the spikes continued to eat into his muscles, leading him to briefly wonder if he was ever going to win his fights.

The physical trauma might have been too harsh on Ryoma's body, because the world around him slipped into blackness.

-

Rouge paced anxiously in her cabin, hands clasped before her belly. Outside the tiny sanctuary, she could already hear the advance of pirates. There was more coarse threatening, and the voices grew in number, as if there was more than a couple of plunderers making their way through the rooms. Had they defeated Ryoma and got past him? Her heart leaped into her throat at the image of the samurai crushed and dead, sending a stake of worry through her middle. That could not happen. She did not know why, only that the man was worthy enough for her to be concerned about his wellbeing.

Sounds of the neighbouring door crashing open jerked her from her thoughts. The women and children inside screamed.

Her blood iced over. _Quick, quick._ There was nowhere for her to go now. If she ran down the corridor, the pirates might chase her down, and she would be of no use to Ryoma. Her eyes cast about the room, landing on the crystal ball. Her stomach jolted. If the pirates saw any value in that... She sprinted over to the table, grabbing the orb in one hand and dashing over to her bed, tucking it roughly under her pillow, scarce moments before heavy footsteps stopped outside the room.

Giving an unladylike curse, Rouge remembered the sailors from the day before, and how she had thought of countering them. All she could hope now was for the tactics to work on the pirates. Her heart thundered in her chest. She reached behind, taking hold of her long braid, the sturdy golden bangle at the end gleaming.

With a loud smash, the wooden door was flung open before her. All she noted was the bright gleam of the pirate's cutlass and shifty eyes on a stubbled face, before stepping forward, swinging the bangle in a loop to gain momentum, and then flinging it hard into the pirate's face, right into an eye. He screamed and covered the injury with a hand, raising his sword with the other, advancing towards her and snarling. Fear screamed at her to retreat. He reeked of alcohol.

"Why, ye bloody bitch-"

Saliva flecked onto her face. She shuddered, her stomach lurching with disgust. Taking care to steer clear of the sharp metal, she stepped towards him and brought her knee swiftly up into his groin, dealing a clean blow which sent him doubling, blood draining away from his face. His sword clattered to the ground as he grabbed his crotch with both hands, his left eye squeezed shut, cursing vehemently at her.

"Dam' ye, hussy, me mates'll be havin' ye trussed up fer th' Cap'n-"

She grabbed the material of the pirate's vest and shoved hard, slamming him into the doorframe. His head met stiff wood with a sickening crack. She pushed him out of the door.

Without another word, the pirate tumbled to the ground, knocked out. Clenching her shaking hands to steady them, Rouge looked down at the fallen man, catching the shine of his sword. She reached for it slowly, drawing unsteady breaths. Her chest heaved. It would be her key to Ryoma, if the worst had happened. The hilt of the weapon was still warm.

Muffled threats sounded in the room across hers. Her heart stopped when she remembered that there were still more plunderers below deck, and that they could outnumber and outmatch her in an instant. She was living on borrowed time now. It was only a matter of moments till she was caught if she did not hurry. Gripping the hilt of the pirate's cutlass with both hands, she treaded on the man's hand deliberately, leaving the door open as she stepped over him, breaking out into a run.

Unlike the samurai, Rouge found her way to the exit with ease, pausing at the junction of corridors to make sure that the coast was clear, before heading for the stairs, holding her weapon to the side to prevent it from tripping her.

"You thar!" A coarse shout rang out behind her. "Lass's git me matey's cutlass!"

Her heart squeezed with panic. Whipping her head around, she caught sight of three pirates at the end of the corridor, each with a sack of loot, staring at her with twisted, half-toothed grins. _Damn it._ Her stomach seemed to have dropped into a bottomless pit; sweat coated her palms. Biting her lip so hard it hurt, the fortune teller ran up the stairs, footsteps resounding behind her, heart pounding. She could only head forward.

Thankfully, there were only about five pirates scattered about on the deck when she surfaced, blinking in the brighter light. None of them had seen her yet. The sight at the far end of the ship made her heart clench.

Lying still on the floor was Ryoma, on his back, with thick metal chains binding his body, blood stains smeared across the green-painted floors. There was a spiked iron ball next to him, lethal-looking, and as big as a watermelon. She hoped to goodness that they had not struck him with it, though a tiny part of her knew that they had. Was he going to die? A fresh wave of anxiety swallowed her. She had to free him.

Above, triumphant shouts sounded where the control room was. "Send Kraken th' word tha' we be havin' the Cap'n an' his mateys all trussed up!"

She chanced a glance towards the upper deck, disbelief parting her lips when a couple of rat-faced plunderers forced the Captain forward. The old man saw her, tried to tell her something with his eyes, but she could not understand. His captors caught sight of her as well, raising the alert.

"Lass on deck! Git th' lass on deck, me mateys! Kraken's goin' t' be 'appy wi' us!"

Her heart slammed into her ribs as the pirates on the deck looked around, spotting her. _Oh, bloody hell._ All she had to do was thrust this matter into Ryoma's hands... _if_ he was conscious to handle it. Any other consequence was too dire to ponder.

Rouge sprinted across the deck so fast her calves tensed with pain. The two pirates guarding Ryoma sprang to their senses, but somehow she made it to them before they had their swords drawn, raising her own weapon and slicing haphazardly at their arms, severing muscle, shoving them aside with a ferocity she didn't know she had. They stumbled and yelled; she slashed at their legs to delay movement. The other pirates were closing in, but she had no time to look.

Letting her bloodied sword fall to the ground with a distant clang, she dropped to her knees next to the samurai, reaching over to slap his face with a trembling hand. Her breath stumbled from her lips. The pirates were shouting. Blood rushed in her ears; she couldn't listen, didn't want to listen. "Wake up, Ryoma! Wake _up_!"

His eyes remained shut. Her fingers curled into the material of his vest, shaking him frantically, a sliver of hope dawning on her chest when his lids started to flutter. She slapped him again, harder this time, till his cheek turned pink. "We don't have much time, Ryoma, please!"

Almost sobbing with fear and desperation, she heard the first footsteps closing in from behind, her arms shaking so badly she could not hold them still. There was no time left. Fear gripped her heart. With her other hand, she tugged at the metal chains, trying to free him from them, cheering mentally when one of the chains gave way, pulling harder at the rest. Her fingers slipped over the smooth links.

"Wake up!" She was screaming now, cold panic sliding into her stomach when rough hands grabbed at her arms. She tugged back at them, resisting, her fingers winding around Ryoma's binds, locking herself to him. _Wake up, wake up, wake up_, she chanted in her mind, tugging at his chains, trying to shake him awake. The shouting around was growing louder, but she was bereft of understanding. Pain squeezed into her arms. Those hands were too strong for her. She was yanked roughly backwards this time, her fingers torn from the metal chains. His lids fluttered, snapped open. Someone jerked her to her feet, sending pain throbbing in her shoulder joints. "_Ryoma!_"

She felt herself being hauled backwards, into more waiting hands, icy panic coursing through her blood. She feared that she was too late, that the pirates would stop Ryoma before he could free himself, that they would violate her so brutally she would be scarred.

Only Ryoma could turn things around now.

-

"_Ryoma_!" The cry sliced through his pain-fogged mind, jolting him to his senses. That sounded like Rouge. His vision focused, bringing the grey sky into view, as well as the towering sails to one side, and a struggling form to another. It was a mocha-skinned woman, white-and-purple-clad, flailing her arms as pirates held her back. Rouge. He remembered the blast, remembered telling her to stay below deck, remembered the pirates. Only when her single eye gazed pleadingly at him had the gravity of the situation come flooding back. His cheek stung, and the wounds on his back clamoured with pain. With a curse, he tried to move, only to find that he could not.

"Ryoma, get yourself out of there!" Rouge shouted at him, straining against the hands that held her captive. There was one pirate on each side of her, anchoring her arms, and one holding both her feet down. The thought of those grubby hands on her sickened him. He had to rescue her. Looking down, he saw metal chains surrounding his body, cursing again. Straining against them seemed to ease them apart. He concentrated on working himself free, searching for his swords visually.

"Shut tha' pretty mout' o' yers, lass!" One of the pirates grabbed her chin between his fingers, grinning lustily at her. "Ain't ye a pretty thin'."

Ryoma frowned at the sight, a nagging irritation surging in his chest. He had more right than any pirate to do that.

Footsteps drew closer to him as more pirates started to gather around. He twisted, feeling the chains loosen around his body, catching sight of his swords at a side of the deck. Had Rouge been next to him moments before, trying to free him? The metal binds slipped off with a heavy rattle, not a moment too soon as a foot landed where his head had been.

Adrenaline flooded his veins. Rolling to his feet, the samurai wove through the pirates, sidestepping gleaming blades and snatching up his own sheathed swords. He tucked the _katana_ back behind his waist and the _wakizashi_ to his left, swiftly drawing the shorter sword with a metallic hiss. The pirates did not fear him. Growling low in his throat, he headed for Rouge, mild annoyance striking his nerves when the robbers ogled her enticing body, easily dodging sword strikes and disarming men, jabbing their stomachs hard enough so they fainted from the pain.

"Let me go, you thugs!" Rouge yelled, glaring at them with her single dark eye. She yanked at the hands that held her captive, jerking hard enough so her breasts shifted within their confines. Almost immediately, their eyes lowered to her twin mounds. The pirate before her smirked, his back to Ryoma.

"Goin' t' th' Cap'n's chambers, eh?" He gestured to another pirate behind her, grinning obscenely.

Ryoma flung off a flurry of plunderers that had come at him, weapons glinting, whirling around to defend himself from some that had charged from the back, knocking them to their feet. Rouge shrieked. His heart skipped a beat, clenched with worry. Making sure the coast was clear, he turned back, almost dropping his sword.

"Burn in hell, you bastards!"

Squirming uncomfortably, her cheeks in a fetching blush, Rouge glared fiercely at the nearest pirate. The scrap of white material at her chest had gone, he realised with horror, a forgotten piece at her feet. In its place were lush, soft mounds of flesh, each crowned with a dusky peak, which would have been perfect if it weren't for the rough hand splayed across one of them, lewdly kneading her tender flesh. She jerked away; her breasts bounced tantalizingly, and the pirates laughed.

Fury as he had not known flared in his chest. He had wanted to see her breasts, but not like this. He wanted to be the first to touch her that intimately, and no way in hell did these monsters deserve such an exquisite beauty as Rouge. They could not do this to her. His loins had stirred slightly at the sight. With a roar, he raised his sword and charged forward, dodging strikes, stopping just before the offending pirate as he brought his _wakizashi_ arcing down with both hands, slamming it down into the man's shoulder and slicing through it, cleaving through cloth, flesh and bone. The strangled scream that burst from the man's throat died when he collapsed onto the floor, gasping in agony. Ryoma drew his sword out, crimson blood shining thickly on his blade.

"Ryoma!"

Rouge stared at him, wide-eyed. The pirates holding her captive seemed to shrink before him, but their holds were still intact. With a vicious snarl, he rounded on them, raising his stained sword to deal them the same fate, his veins blazing with white-hot anger. There was no way they could comprehend how special Rouge was to him.

_Bang!_

Something tiny and sharp whizzed by his sore cheek, cutting a laceration into his skin. The wound stung, a fraction of what the open wounds in his back were clawing into his body. Gritting his teeth, Ryoma turned, coming face-to-face with the pirate captain he had glimpsed.

"Ye be fightin' me, scallywag!" The aged man bared his yellowed teeth at him, revolver in hand smoking. Black boots stepped forward confidently eight yards away. His pincer-hand clacked with sly menace, single eye anchored on him. "Th' rest o' ye - where be th' pretties I told ye t' roun' up?"

Ryoma swallowed, taking stock of Kraken's darting eye and his gun. Most of the gathered plunderers left to go below deck, responding with a cheerful "Aye, Cap'n!". A handful of the rest were in the middle of loading their own ship with bundles of loot. He could not let them get away with this, and he could not let the pirate boss take the women away. Kraken's bloodshot eye swung over to Rouge.

"Arr, a pretty lass wi' fair knockers. Fetch 'er t' me chambers after I'm done, ye louts!"

The group of lackeys behind snickered. His blood boiled. How dare he use such coarse terms on Rouge? How dare he even lay eyes on the woman? Ryoma gripped his sword so hard that the whites of his fingers were starting to show. Blood welled in his cut and trickled down his cheek.

"You'll do no such thing, old man!" Rouge spat, glaring at Kraken. "Ryoma, you show him!"

"I'll win this for you, Rouge," he muttered, just loudly enough for her to catch it. His heart pounded with barely-contained rage. It was his fault that Rouge was in this mess. There was no question now that he had to defeat the blue-dressed pirate, for the fortune teller's sake. He drew his sword up close to himself, tensing his muscles to anticipate the pirate's first move. His straw-slippered feet inched to the side, towards the front of the ship, to lead Kraken's shots further away from Rouge should any of them go astray. Of all the fights he had ever got into, those with pistols were the most lethal. He could not afford to make a single mistake.

Allotting most of his consciousness on Kraken and the rest on his surroundings, the samurai started off towards the old pirate, zigzagging, watching as the barrel trained onto him, his heart slamming into his chest. One wrong move and he could well be dead. He saw the finger squeeze suddenly, as if in slow motion, pressing the trigger just as Kraken smirked. Instantly, he ducked and threw himself to the side, the high-pitched whistle narrowly missing his shoulder as the telltale bang resounded above him. He had to move faster. If Kraken's revolver could hold six bullets, he would have to live through the next four and kill the pirate by then. More people would be harmed if the seasoned plunderer lived.

Kraken growled, cocking his gun. Ryoma rolled to his feet and eyed him closely. He could not repeat that again, because chances were that the pirate would have learnt from it. Breath rasped through his throat. There were now nine yards separating him from his opponent. He needed to get closer. The wound on his cheek had started to scab; his back felt sticky and raw. Anger throbbed in his veins.

Rouge watched the samurai nervously, chewing on her lip. Her heart had tightened with worry when Kraken took his second shot, missing the man by a hair's breath. Seeing the gouge wounds on his back had made her gape with horror. Dark splashes of blood had blossomed over his vest, and there were holes gaping in the cloth that revealed his incarnadine wounds, marred with dirt. Her heart ached for him.

Now that Ryoma was conscious, her fear of the pirates had ebbed. They had taken the liberty to demonstrate her lack of power by gripping her arms so tightly she thought they might bruise, and copping the occasional feel of her breasts when Ryoma wasn't looking. She could not scream, not when the samurai needed all his wits about him. He had too much to think about without her adding to it.

Humiliatingly, her nipples had hardened in the cool air, much to her chagrin. It had earned her an extra snicker from the pirates, made her wish she could sink into the ground. No one had molested her this outrightly before. In fact, the trace of pleasure that those calloused hands rubbed into her chest sent guilt roiling in her middle. The samurai probably frowned upon tainted women.

A large hand cupped her bottom through her pants. More crude laughter sounded in her ears. She flushed in embarrassment, repulsed by the slow groping across the curves of her rump, heavy fingers sliding down between her legs. She bit the whimper of protest back and squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the faint ribbons of pleasure curling through her flesh.

"Th' lass be a ripe 'un," the man behind her remarked offhandedly, giving her ass a squeeze to prove his point. She hissed and jerked away from him. Ryoma was moving now, darting left and right, heading straight for the pirate captain. She bit her lip in anxiety. This was no time to be worrying about herself when Ryoma's life was on the line. Her heart hammered in her chest.

There was another gunshot, and a swift flash of metal, a loud chink. The samurai had somehow deflected the bullet with his sword. Relief soughed in her chest. She sagged visibly within her binds.

"Thin' Kraken'll 'ave th' lass up fer grabs when he be done wi' 'er?" another voice joined in behind her. Before she knew it, hands had slipped into the hem of her pants, one in front and two at the back, delving into her underwear and cupping her rear, leisurely smoothing over her flesh. Rough fingers rubbed into the mound of her womanhood. She gasped and stiffened, trying to wriggle free, her cheeks burning with mortification. "Egad! She be 'airless as a tot!"

_No_. This surely was a nightmare. Despite the faint pleasure that the gropes were giving her, she did not want any of it. Her body had been hungry for the samurai, not them. The feel of their hands made nausea constrict her stomach, and she could not bear to be shamed like this. Not in front of Ryoma. A cry of protest slipped from her throat. She regretted it the second after.

The samurai paused and turned towards her, his eyes sharpening with vicious wrath. She panicked. He wasn't supposed to be focusing on her. Kraken could grab the advantage and kill him at any moment. Shaking her head vigorously, she nodded towards the pirate chief, her stomach flipping. The latter grinned widely, readying his gun. The movement must have sent his head whipping back, because he dove out of the way just as the gunshot rang out, a slit tearing through his sleeve, leaving a red stain across his bicep. Her heart squeezed painfully. Would he be able to keep this up?

Kraken snarled, flexing his steel pincers. This swordsman had a speed that he saw rarely, and it was that same agility which had lost him precious bullets, a quarter of which would have been sufficient to kill any normal opponent. His status as a marksman had kept his crew under his thumb.

Ryoma was not an average fighter, Kraken had realised, and the violation of the lass to the side had introduced a deadly gleam to those jet-black eyes. Something told the pirate that the tables were turned now; he was the game bird, not the hunter. He refused to believe it.

With a steady hand, he brought the revolver up again, tracing the zigzagging movement of the samurai. This was no longer a time to fool around. He would lose his place at the top of his minions if he failed. The barrel was trained on the man's heart as he took a curved run, sword to a side, five feet away. Kraken pulled the trigger.

The resulting bang was not accompanied by the swift halt of the samurai's progress. Instead, there was a slice through the air so fast that his eye barely caught it. Two separate halves of the bullet skidded across the floor with heavy thuds, glinting dully. There was barely enough time for shock to register as Kraken urged for his pistol to load, taking a point-blank aim when the samurai bore down on him, savage anger flaring in his eyes.

Ryoma felt the strain in his calves as he sprinted towards the pirate, raising his sword. This was the only way to get those hands off Rouge, and he was damn well going to do it. His heart pounded distantly, as did all other noise surrounding them. There was no time to think. The revolver before him clicked with sturdy decisiveness. It angled up toward his head. Focusing on his entire body, he saw the shift of the pirate's trigger finger in slow frames, thrust himself to the side, a yard away from the man, bringing his _wakizashi_ down as he twisted in midair. The finger tightened, gun turning towards him, pulling the trigger. Noise exploded in his ears. His muscles flexed at the same moment, bringing his blade down onto the blue-cuffed wrist, slicing cleanly through it with muted snaps of bone. Fire seared across the top of his shoulder.

Kraken screamed, watched his remaining hand fall lifeless to the floor, rage and agony fuelling his movement as he swung out at Ryoma with his metal pincer, catching him on the side of the head and sending him flying across the deck.

His head met the hard floor for the second time that day, pain buzzing in his skull. Clenching his jaw, Ryoma rolled out onto his back, shaking his head to clear his vision. The pirate stormed up to him, blood dripping from his stub of a wrist, boot raised to crush his exposed stomach.

"I'll make yer lass pay fer me han', ye lily-livered scum!"

His heart thundered at the sight of Kraken towering above, grabbing the other black boot in reflex and yanking hard, snatching the pirate's balance from under him. With a venomous curse, Kraken crashed heavily into the ground, kicking his hands off, raising his metal pincer to deal him another blow. Ryoma flung himself away, climbing to his feet as the metal vice banged into the ground, snatching his fallen sword up.

With a roar, he brought the _wakizashi_ down, ignoring Kraken's horrified face, slamming its point into the plunderer's chest, right through his heart. Crimson blood stained the stiff blue material, blossoming around his sword.

Faint cheering erupted behind him. His heartbeats pounded in his ears. The _wakizashi_ was freed with a light tug. Most of the blood stains came off with quick wipes on Kraken's sleeve. He remembered Rouge then, spinning around to check on her, tensing. Had the other pirates harmed her for their leader's demise?

Instead, the villains released the woman the moment he faced her, sword stained with their captain's death. They backed away when he advanced, looking at him fearfully. He only had eyes for the fortune teller, however, watching as her face lit up. She rubbed her sore arms. In a second, she had whirled around, drawing her fist back and punching the closest two plunderers in the eye, dealing the last one a swift kick to the groin. He doubled in pain. Ryoma stared admiringly at her.

Shouts sounded from the side, as armed passengers joined them, taking out the last of the pirates, some leaping onto the pirate ship to retrieve their possessions. Word had got around that the Captain and his crewmates were freed; some of the passengers who had witnessed his fight came up to express their gratitude and congratulations. He sheathed his sword and went through the motions numbly, watching Rouge bend and retrieve her ruined garment from the corner of his eye.

She all but ran up to him when the passengers had left him alone, holding the scrap of material demurely in front of her bare chest. Her cheeks were pink, but she seemed to ignore them, staring into his eyes with her lips parted. He thought nothing looked more beautiful than she did. "I'm so glad you're alive, Ryoma."

Did her voice crack? He could not put into words the medley of emotions he felt, from appreciation, to joy, relief, gratitude, and another feeling he could not quite identify. Ryoma watched as she released her hands from her chest, revealing her breasts for a moment, before gingerly embracing him, winding her arms around his neck. She radiated warmth and gentleness, bringing him away from the rage he had felt moments before. Amidst the pain throbbing on various parts of his body, he could feel her warm softness, the shift of her bare flesh against his chest. It felt very pleasant. He told himself he would turn a blind eye to their intimacy for the moment, reaching up to return the hug. The graze on his shoulder stung; he drew a sharp breath.

The woman released him at once, looking at him in concern. "You're injured. I'll get you back to the room immediately."

"Rouge." She paused mid-turn, glancing at him at the utterance of her name. "What were you doing on the deck? I told you to stay in the room."

Her features shadowed. "I wanted to make sure you were safe. They had you chained up on the floor."

"You tried to free me?"

She nodded, looking away, slipping her soft hand into his. The scrap of material was back across her chest. He was filled with stark admiration for the woman, holding thoughts of her closer to himself. She seemed to have little, if any, experience dealing with that large a number of armed men, yet she had risked her life for the sake of the ship, if not for him. "Thank you."

"It was nothing." She lifted her gaze to his, a tiny smile curving her pink lips. At peace now, he relaxed, heart warming.

The trip back to their room took longer than they had expected, especially with the descent down the flight of steep stairs, filled with curious passengers keen on seeing the last of the pirates. They stepped aside and murmured at the odd pair of a bloodied swordsman and a half-dressed girl, but made no move to stop them.

It was only after the door of the small, cramped room had shut that Ryoma allowed himself to sink heavily down onto his bed, his vision swimming before his eyes. His head throbbed at various points, and so did his back and shoulder. When Rouge leaned in to ask if he was well, he did not notice the dark expanse of skin on her chest, not even when he slumped forward and collapsed into her.

* * *

The sky was starting to darken three hours later. Outside the window, the clouds frowned grey-blue, but it had fortunately not rained. Rouge watched over the samurai from the chair next to his bed, his damp _kimono_ top in her hands. Over the course of his unconsciousness, she had busied herself by removing the man's top and vest, washing the dried blood out, replacing her torn bra and patching the ruined one up, before heading down to the dining hall for food for them both. Her dinner had been a plate of potato casserole, finished in the quickest time possible. There had been noodles and sliced pork available - a bowl of the dish was awaiting Ryoma on the small table in the room.

It had been difficult not to sink back into memories of the terror she had experienced hours ago. Ryoma had not noticed how shaken she was, nor did she expect him to. There were far more wounds on him than she would have liked, and she could not imagine the pain he had to be going through.

Instead, she had fetched a towel and a basin of water, cleansing out the wounds on his body she could reach. He had stirred, settled back into fitful rest. She was thankful for the medicinal salves she had brought along - a pouch of them lay on her bed, having been used for the graze across his bicep, as well as the deeper rut one of the bullets had driven across his shoulder. That wound had taken a while to stop bleeding, and she had applied a thick layer of salve to the groove to prevent infection.

As she stitched his torn _kimono_ top up, the man groaned, starting to stir. Her stomach flipped. Setting the half-mended article aside, she fetched a glass of water for him, cradling it in her hands as he cracked his eyes open, muttering hoarsely. "Where am I?"

"Shh. Drink up." She slipped a hand beneath his head, slowly easing him up for a sip of water. He finished it thirstily, pushing himself up on the bed. Rouge placed a restraining hand on his chest, looking at him worriedly. "Lie down, Ryoma. You need to rest."

He gazed between her face and hand, blushing. She caught the surreptitious glance he threw at her chest. A playful smile crept up her lips. His muscled chest rose and fell with each breath he drew; her fingers lingered for longer than necessary. The warmth radiating from his body enticed her. Unwillingly, she pulled her hand away, raising herself from her seat.

"Hungry?"

"You bet!"

There was something adorable about the way his eyes darted around the room, searching for something edible. Smiling to herself, she brought the tray over to him. His countenance brightened with boyish delight. "Noodles? You're the best, Rouge!"

The smile that curved her lips this time was bittersweet. She watched him lift the bowl to his mouth, slurping at the noodles noisily. The helping had been larger than usual, seeing that they had missed lunch as well. Her gaze coasted down his form. Would he still think her the best, with her terrified screams and less-than-virginal body? She removed the tray from him when he was done, sighing contentedly, licking his lips, polishing off the next glass of water she fetched him.

"Now, turn around, Ryoma. I need to clean your wounds." He acquiesced, shifting so his back was just at the edge of the mattress. Rouge reached for the pouch, laying her herbs out. She retrieved the basin of water from beneath the bunk, slowly dabbing his wounds clean, rubbing blood from the surrounding skin away. The gouge marks in the middle were deeper, having scabbed over slightly. She winced at the sight. Once the dried blood had been removed, she applied the salves to his wounds, tucking little rolled-up herbs into the depressions to ease the sting. He hissed in pain. She patted his side in response. "Don't move now, I'm going to bandage you up."

The man nodded, and she leaned in, slowly winding a roll of gauze around his back and chest, her hands occasionally brushing his warm skin, sending a thrill down her spine. He squirmed visibly when her knuckles rubbed softly over his nipple. Her breath caught. He was sensitive to her touch, wasn't he?

"Turn around," she directed when his back wounds had been thoroughly bound, holding the salves and herbs in place. He shifted slowly, careful not to place too much pressure on his left shoulder.

The defined muscles at his abdomen never failed to catch her attention. Licking her lips subconsciously, she tucked herbs into the rut in his shoulder, slowly binding it up in swathes of white. He stared at her as she worked, gaze slipping down to her chest, before blushing and looking away. Her nerves tingled.

Rouge knotted the end of the bandage, reaching over for a bottle of ointment for his bruised cheek. Neither of them had said a word about how close they were - it would have ruined the quiet intimacy of the moment. She uncapped the vial.

"I can do this myself," Ryoma started to object when she rubbed the medicine tenderly into his cheek, fingers smoothing over his skin. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, leaning in towards him, focusing on his cheek, her gaze occasionally straying to his lips. They looked soft, and she wanted to kiss them badly. The hand holding the bottle rested lightly on his thigh. He squirmed.

"It's my way of thanking you for saving the entire ship," she murmured, deciding that she needed to be closer to reach his cheek more easily. Leaving her slippers on the floor, she eased a knee onto the mattress on one side of his thighs. His eyes widened, trying to comprehend her actions. Holding on to his good shoulder for support, she lifted her other knee onto the bed, effectively straddling him, settling herself in his lap. His thighs were warm and hard.

"Wh-what're you doing, Rouge?" He leaned away, blushing, gaze falling to her white-clad chest. Her heart pounded.

"Don't strain your back like that, it's bad for your recovery." She slipped a hand against the nape of his neck, drawing him back towards her. He complied unwillingly, squirming. His bandaged chest rose and fell. "What do you think I'm doing?"

He fell silent, fixing his gaze on something over her shoulder. She continued to massage his cheek, avoiding the thin scab from the initial gunshot. It was so easy to just grope him and take things from there. Moments passed before his gaze returned to her. "Are you all right? You were very brave back there, fighting all those pirates by yourself." He frowned, adding as a hesitant afterthought, "Those thugs... touched you."

She stilled, hand falling to her lap. Suddenly their proximity only seemed to heighten her shame, how much more revolted he would be with her. Vaguely, she saw his discomfort with the topic. "I wasn't brave, Ryoma. I was scared."

The images flashed before her eyes, of the pirates chasing her, of them pinning her down, of their lewd, half-toothed grins. It was possibly the first time she had put herself at such high a risk, not knowing if death was around the corner. The feel of their hands were crisp in her mind, repulsive. She wondered if she should hate herself for that. Heat prickled behind her eyes. She drew a shaky breath, overwhelmed. She could not cry, not in front of Ryoma. Not in front of anyone.

Rouge shut her eyes and turned away, hoping that the tears would not leak from her lids. Doing that helped her to imagine she was alone, if it weren't for the warm lap beneath her.

"I still think you were very brave, Rouge." He patted her hand awkwardly.

"And tainted, all because of the way I dress." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her vision swam when she cracked her eyes open. He would admit to her fears now, if that was so.

"I like the way you dress," he blurted. "And you didn't choose what they did to you."

She swallowed, opened her eyes to stare at him in surprise. Relief flooded her chest. He barely freed her from those ghosts, but it was a start. Fluid swirled at her lower lids. She dipped her head, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. "You mean that?"

"I do." The expression on his face was sincere.

"Thank you." With a sigh that barely betrayed the warmth she felt, Rouge leaned in, looping her arms around Ryoma's neck and hugging him tightly, burying her face in his throat. The emotions were starting to ebb away, comfort soothing in her veins. His warmth was distracting, and he smelled of sweat and ointment. It was not until he squirmed that she realised how her covered breasts were pressed to his chest, sending a thrill along her nerves.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, resuming the application of ointment on his cheek. He had admitted to liking her clothes. What he had not mentioned was his interest in her, that she was starting to have a growing desire in testing.

"Are you feeling better?"

Lifting her fingers from his cheek, she drew a slow thumb across his lower lip, delighting in the silken feel of his flesh. Her heart quickened. He grew stiff. She capped the bottle and set it on the chair to keep it out of the way. "Mmhmm."

"Rouge, what are y-"

Her soft, warm lips were upon his suddenly, slowly stroking sideways with a light, teasing pressure. His breath caught. She smelled of flowers and lust. His pulse raced. They weren't supposed to be this intimate - he was a samurai! He tried to protest, parting his mouth, only to have her nip at his bottom lip, before pressing her full lips to his. His heart tripped. The thought slipped from his mind; her flesh felt exquisite. Her smooth hands were caressing his arms, nails dragging lightly over his skin in a way that sent tingles down his nerves.

His body stirred, blood heating. She took his lower lip between her teeth and sucked lightly on it. The slow, tugging pressure wavered his thoughts, attuned his senses to her proximity. Hot breath puffed over his skin. This had to be a dream. He eased his mouth away from hers, immediately missing her touch, meeting her hooded eye guiltily. "We can't do this, Rouge! I'm in training!"

"And?" His gaze fell to her lips, glistening with wetness, looking like they needed another kiss. His heart thumped. The woman did not wait for an answer, drawing him close by the nape of his neck and trailing her silky lips over his jaw in a line of fire, nipping at his skin. His breath hitched. "I want you, Ryoma."

His blood coursed, pooled in his loins at her words, and he felt powerless to prevent it. He should leave this very minute, to preserve both their honours. But she started to rub her round, clothed breasts into his chest in a way that sent hazy arousal leaking into his body. Did she know how tempting their softness was? The loincloth was already starting to feel too tight. Damn hormones. "You can't do this!"

"Why not?" she purred, dipping her head lower to kiss his throat, lick it. He turned his head away to refrain from looking, gasping when she parted her lips and bit lightly into his flesh. Sharp points of pressure sank into his skin, surrounding a slippery heat that lapped at his resistance. She would be able to feel his racing pulse from where she was. He cursed his body, a groan flying from his lips when her hot mouth closed over his throat and started to suck lightly. His heartbeat slipped into unsteady thuds with each heated draw. "You want this too, don't you?"

"No, I don't!" he protested, eyes widening when he felt a warm hand surround his, lightly stroking his fingers, before cupping his hand, lifting it up. Torn between stopping her and seeing where she would lead him to, he squirmed, trying to free himself from under her tantalizing body. Rouge seemed to not take heed of his words, pulling wetly away from his throat, her single eye half-lidded, watching his face as she pressed his hand to her breast, pushing lightly so he felt her flesh yield behind her bra. His cheeks flushed a deep red; his heart stumbled. She felt so soft and delectable that he felt himself strain against his underwear, wanting a more explicit touch, yet telling himself he could not. Vaguely, he remembered wanting to touch her hours ago, pleading with the gods that this was one wish he would rather left not granted.

"You like how I look, don't you, _Ryoma_?" Lust tore into his abdomen. Not that tone again. Her cheeks were red with the faintest of blushes, and she released his hand, to his relief, only to cup her own breasts and ease them together, deepening her cleavage. He flushed hard, forgetting to breathe. Pressure strained between his legs. He thanked the gods for how baggy his pants were, trying to tear his eyes away but could not.

"I-" Ryoma found himself incapable of speech, only knowing that they ought not to be doing this, even if his body urged and demanded more. His eyes remained on her breasts, remembering the delectable points of her nipples, squirming beneath her. She had touched him all over with those twin mounds in his dreams, and as unspeakable as it was, he wanted her to do that in real life. Would she feel just as velvety and soft against his skin?

Rouge must have read his thoughts somehow, raising herself off his lap slightly and bringing her chest closer to his face. His eyes widened; he leaned away, but her torso was still fully in his vision. She reached behind to unclasp her undergarment. The white material sprung away and slipped down her front. He swallowed hard, found himself staring at the perfect twin globes that had always beckoned him, tipped with two pebbled nipples. His breath caught in his throat, lust coursing in his body. If he had been stiff before, the sight of her bare breasts, swaying as she leaned closer, rubbing a taut nipple against his lips, sent such a burst of arousal to his crotch that he grew rock-hard, breathing raggedly against her delicate skin.

"Please, Rouge," he whispered, turning his head away to contain his lust, fearing that he would not be able to hold his need if she enticed him anymore. This thick atmosphere they were both in was drowning him, robbing him of his logic. His body throbbed for her, tensed in expectation. This was madness.

Instead, she pressed her fingers to his jaw, slowly guiding his gaze back to her delectable breasts, rubbing her twin mounds into his face, avoiding his bruised cheek. It felt as if he was in a cruel blend of hell and heaven all at once, with her velvety softness and the pressure at his crotch he could not, would not, assuage. She trailed a hard nipple over the seam of his lips, easing it into his mouth. He gasped at the invasion, his mind reeling from their stark intimacy.

Without thinking, he licked the stiff nub, sending her gasping and arching towards him, a raw moan escaping her throat. The faint traces of a throb unfurled in his flesh. He drew an unsteady breath, taking a hesitant suck on her nipple. It was rougher than it had expected it to be. She groaned and pushed her breast against his mouth, threading her fingers through his hair, locking him to her chest. There was no denying her arousal, and the knowledge of it only seemed to reinforce his need for her.

Secretly glad that he had little choice but to pleasure her, Ryoma drew more of her breast into his mouth, laving her soft flesh with his tongue, flicking it at her nipple. She whimpered and tightened her fingers in his hair, squirming. He could feel his control slipping, feel the growing need to keep tasting her flesh, even as the other voice in his mind screamed at him to stop.

She pulled away, leaving him breathing hard, the curve of her breast gleaming with his saliva, proof of his lapse of control. He could not sully her like that. Cheeks heated with a blush, he turned away, muttering hoarsely, "I'm not supposed to be doing this, Rouge."

"But you need me," she whispered, dragging a warm hand down his chest, a muffled touch through the bandages. He groaned, looking from her face to her breasts, trying to urge his legs to move. All he could think of was the heated pressure at his loins. "I'll bet you're already hard right now."

"Please," he begged, his face flushed hotly at how explicit she was, how true her words rang. She teased his mouth with her other breast, her stiff nipple probing between his lips. He gave in and sucked her flesh, knowing he shouldn't, unable to help himself. She moaned and ground into his mouth, squirming fluidly against him. He shuddered. Her arousal yanked his notches higher.

Ryoma kept his hands firmly at his sides, unwilling to sink deeper into this miasma of growing lust, even if the texture of her breast was delicious and his stiff length ached for her touch. She drew away when he had wet her breast like he'd done the other, sliding her hot, smooth body down his front, letting her damp breasts skim over his throat and collarbones, over his chest. A shiver raced down his spine.

There was a flash of mischief in her eyes when she fully settled into his lap, much nearer than he had remembered. In fact, he realised, she was much closer to touching his length now, there being a scarce three inches between his pants and hers. He squirmed. The woman dragged her slender hands down his sides, teasing his hunger, leaning back in to nip at his jaw. Tingles raced over his skin.

Before he knew it, her fingers were tugging at the knots of his pants, trying to free him from his clothes. She was going to disrobe him. He panicked. Coming to his senses, he caught her wrists, shaking his head at her. Despite how aroused he was, he could not let them both make this mistake. "We can't, Rouge. I'll dishonour you."

Rouge smirked, leaned in to kiss his lips, licking at his soft mouth with her tongue. The nagging hunger in her veins wasn't going to let her stop, not when she was so close to having him for herself. It was hard keeping her hands off the obvious bulge between his legs, creating a need in herself so sharp that she squirmed in his firm lap,. Her heart slammed against her ribs, driving her on. His full lips parted before her tongue.

A low purr slipped from her throat when she advanced into his mouth, heated and wet, licking his lips, teeth, seeking out his tongue. The grip on her hands loosened. He shuddered beneath her, meeting her hesitantly, sending a jolt down her spine. She gasped. He tasted tangy, of food, and she angled her head to gain better access to him, sliding her tongue heavily over his silken heat, moaning. His breath was hot and shallow against her skin. It was so obvious that he wanted her. She urged his lips apart, hungry for more of his taste, her nerves buzzing, stroking his slippery flesh. Wet heat gathered between her legs.

It was a minute or two before she undid the knots of his _hakama_, breaking the kiss. He breathed raggedly, as did she, blushing at their intimacy. She gave him a foxy smile, her heart fluttering, leaning back in his lap to ease the navy material away. What she saw sent a throbbing heat straight into her loins. Her heart pounded

Drawing a shuddering breath, she drew close, her lips hovering a hair's breadth from his, thrills racing down her nerves. "Your body does want me, Ryoma."

"No, please!" He squirmed, still blushing, trying to get away from her. She pulled away, tracing his arousal with her eyes, biting back a hungry moan. He gulped; she pushed her breasts together with her arms, drawing his attention. Her mounds lifted and fell with each breath, beckoning his touch. His gaze sent buzzes of sensation spiralling into her nipples. The man bit his lip and looked swiftly away. "Rouge, you know I can't do this."

"But you want to. Tell me you don't want me, Ryoma." She lifted herself off his lap, pushing gently at his shoulders. "Lie back. Don't strain your wounds."

"But Rouge-"

"Answer me." She traced a finger over his wet lips, relishing the smoothness of his flesh.

He gazed pleadingly at her, eyes slipping down to her breasts. "I can't-"

"Don't make me force an answer from you," she whispered, trailing her fingers down the contours of his abdomen, lingering lightly at the edge of his smooth loincloth. Heat emanated from his body.

He knew that he had lost the battle within himself then, when she sealed their lips in another searing kiss.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **_Not much for me to say.. except that I hope this chapter isn't too long-winded. The next chapter will be another huge one... Four more chapters to go, I hope! I've been surviving on five hours of sleep each day working on this fic. T.T Do inform me if you spot any mistakes or inconsistencies.. Power Stone doesn't belong to me._

* * *

Sunlight slanted in through the round window, dancing off the ends of the two bunk beds in the dim cabin. Unlike the sounds of a waking populace throughout the ship, it was quiet in the room, with only a soft set of breathing that was hardly audible. Of the two beds in the cabin, only one had been slept in through the entire journey; the other sat neatly made, an incriminating fact in and of itself. Sheets enveloped the sole slumbering figure in the room.

Rouge stirred, distantly growing aware of her surroundings. Memories of the previous day swirled and gathered at the surface of her consciousness. There were flashbacks of pirates, fear and Ryoma, and of these, the imageries of the samurai were undoubtedly the most welcome. They had slept with each other. More importantly, she had taken his virginity. Rouge could still recall the warm caress of his skin, the softness of his lips, the thick length of his flesh. Her hand slipped to the juncture of her legs, savouring the thought that Ryoma had been there. The anticipation he had built in her through the past week had not been for naught; she had thoroughly approved of his body in the past night's torrid coupling.

It was, thus, starkly obvious that the tantalizing male heat was no longer next to her this morning. Fabric whispered across her bare skin when she turned on her single bed, suddenly spacious. The luxuriant feel of her calves brushing together, arms smoothing over her breasts, sent a shiver of delight up her spine. At long last, Rouge stretched and cracked her eyes open, only to realise that the clean sheet draped over her had not been there the night before.

Ryoma had to have done it to preserve some shred of her modesty.

Lips twitching in a smile, she pushed herself up to undo her braid, heart fluttering. The man had certainly won himself a stack of brownie points, though she was doubtful that she had done the same with him. Where had he gone, and how would he treat her from this point on? Surely he did not think of her as a common whore now.

Cold dread slid into her stomach like an eel. The prospect shook her deeper than she had expected it to. Biting her lip, Rouge dressed hurriedly, flitting about the cramped room to make sure her possessions were accounted for. In addition to the hazy relationship she shared with the samurai, her worry for Ganna had bloomed anew. By the angle of the sun's rays, she estimated it to be another four hours to Fireland. The ship would dock right at the doorstep of Mahdad.

At this point, she could not be sure if her emotions were in a greater knot over Ryoma or her mentor. Her growing attachment towards the man would have to end sometime, and she was loathe to think about it. Life would be very dull indeed without the samurai who embarrassed too easily.

Clipping her satchel shut, Rouge headed out of their cabin, tugging at the door. The framework had been ruined by the pirate in the previous day.

-

She found him on the deck, staring out to sea. He cut a solemn figure against the water and the sky, still and unmoving as he was. It reminded her of his determination and his strength, hidden power within sinewy muscle, as he refrained from resting his weight on the parapet, instead standing straight and tall, proud like the warrior he had proven himself to be. The slight breeze that had picked up tugged at the raven brush of his hair, neatly bound to one side of his head.

Her heart skipped a beat watching him. There were still holes on his vest where she had not the time to patch. Had he noticed her work? Even if she had not made an impression on how he viewed her, the man had certainly changed the way she looked at him. At no other point in her life had someone dissolved into such cold fury on her behalf, killed for her sake. She had felt beyond special then. The dangerous gleam in his eyes had been seared into her mind. His savagery had instilled fear into her, yes, but it had also deeply attracted her to him on a carnal level that she could not explain.

As if he had sensed her thoughts, Ryoma turned his head slightly in her direction. She froze. The events from the night before hung between them like a dark cloud of awkwardness. She had, after all, seduced him without his permission. Biting her lip, Rouge stepped forward, joining him next to the parapet a foot away. He flinched.

Her heart chilled with hurt shock. Surely he wasn't that repulsed by her? Trying to keep the quaver from her voice, she began, "I thought I'd find you he-"

"Rouge." She glanced at him, hopeful. Her heart pounded each beat deliberately. He remained gazing out into the horizon, inducing a squirm, as if keeping her as distant as he could. "I... think we should go on our own separate ways when we reach Fireland."

For some reason, that statement sank her ankle-deep into depression. The thought of leaving Ryoma this soon was upsetting, especially when she had just realised how much she liked having him around, liked him as a person. Liked him more than a friend, even. This just could not happen. Weren't they getting along well? Yet, even as she tried to deny their parting, Rouge knew it had to be done, sooner rather than later. As it was, he had already wound his way into a heart prohibited from romantic love.

She forced her gaze away, looked at the smooth parapet. Her chest twinged with the tiniest of aches. It felt as if she had given a little part of herself to him the night before, when she had only intended to share her body. "So you think of me as one of the brothel folk now?" Even suggesting that scared her, for fear that he would admit to it.

"N-no, it's not that!" He blushed, turned away from her in a manner that endeared him to her. "I- you- it's just... having you around is a hindrance to my training!"

Rouge bit her lip hard. She had not been expecting him to sing praises of her, but the confession that she was an obstruction stung badly, coming from him. There was nothing she could say to defend herself, knowing that he had a point. No matter how much each of them had enjoyed their coupling the night before, the fact remained that she wanted more of it; he did not. It was inevitable that their interests would clash again in the future.

She would have to look Ganna up and solve the problems herself. At the very least, knowing that she would be seeing her surrogate mother soon alleviated the misery of not having the samurai around.

"In that case, where are you headed when we reach Fireland?" she ventured in a small voice, sweeping the remnants of her confidence together. For all she knew, he was going to take the next ship back. Wanting to numb her senses might have been a good idea, except that she could not bring herself to do it. Rouge half-wanted to grab his shoulders and tell him he could not just leave her like that.

"I'll help to escort the pirates to the local authorities," he answered simply, noncommittally.

She shifted on her feet. Her thoughts had been so occupied by Ganna and the man that the plunderers had been shoved to the back of her mind, despite the trauma they had put her through. Ryoma had not realised it, but he had helped greatly to reduce her fears the day before, with his body and otherwise. Even so, the thought of the pirates still being aboard unnerved her. A quick glance around revealed none of the uncouth robbers. "They're on this ship? Wouldn't they break free?"

"All the way below deck, with the cargo."

Rouge found herself relishing his voice, cold as he was, comparing it to his pleasured countenance from the depths of her memory. She chanced a sidelong glance at him, flushed when she caught the surreptitious look he had been sneaking at her. Her heart thumped. He turned away, expression hardening.

"They'll have me to answer to if they harm anyone on this ship."

_Especially me?_ she wanted to ask, but refrained from it. In all honesty, this might very well be the last time she saw him. Rouge took a step back, drawing an unsteady breath. It was easier to fit him into her view from afar. Staying with him till the end of the journey was out of the question. It was much too awkward and painful to have the samurai refuse any deeper interaction with her.

"I'll see you around, Ryoma. It's been a pleasure knowing you." Her words sounded mechanical, unfeeling. Gods, it was as if she was bidding him farewell. There was so much she wanted to tell him, but none of it would translate into speech, not how special he was to her, or how much she liked and thought of him. Those sentiments welled in her chest, bubbling restlessly, remaining stoppered. She took a final, lingering gaze at the samurai, memorizing the intricacies of his figure, before turning away, walking briskly to the stairwell to prevent herself from looking back.

"Goodbye, Rouge," he bade. Her imagination gave his voice a touch of sadness, that mirrored her emotions. She felt his eyes bore into her back. It was only until she flung herself down the stairs that the nagging attention faded, accompanied by her feigned composure.

* * *

"_She's returned! Under the darkest skies, the brightest flowers bloom._"

A faint image of Rouge glowed at the heart of a dark crystal orb. Within the ebony sphere, she watched on as her ship pulled into the harbour, her single eye sweeping across the coastal town of Fireland.

Long, bony fingers hovered around the crystal ball, almost caressing the air over its curved surface. They belonged to a tall man, dressed in a royal blue robe and a white turban, his deep brown skin so dark that it stood a stark contrast against his headwear.

He looked to be around thirty, with thin hands and an equally narrow face. Bushy black eyebrows swept upwards, into his forehead, dipping down at the ends, bearing little resemblance to his thick moustache, smooth and pointed on either side of his sharp nose. He had high cheekbones and a protruding chin, which was fuzzed over with a trimmed beard. Above his forehead, a lavender gem, set in gold, held the fabric of his headwear together. Snow-white cloth extended down from his turban, surrounding the sides and back of his head, ending in circles over his shoulders. This was the norm in Fireland. Civilians garbed themselves in flowing robes and headscarves to lessen the overbearing heat of the sun.

Neros stood back on his gilded platform and laughed heartily, his small eyes crinkled with glee.

The black crystal ball gleamed sinisterly in the lamplight, nestled on a large gold ring on the surface of a pedestal, which was in turn mounted on a high platform in the middle of the room. This was one of the most important chambers in the Oracle's Temple, as it housed the crystal orb used to tell the tidings of the city and country. Four grand, bronze pillars held the domed roof up, their archways intricately carved, ending in a point as they curved towards the ceiling. To the sides, foot-wide glass panes made up three of the four walls, held together by sturdy rows of metal. Ceramic brackets hung off the pillars and walls at strategic points, the torches within them bathing the chamber in a dim orange glow. Opulence glinted off the gilded floors.

The man had replaced the original crystal orb with his own dark globe, which, in his opinion, served him better. It had helped cement his standing amongst the townsfolk over the past three years. With the arrival of the beautiful Rouge, things were going to grow a little more interesting. Not for long, however. Neros had no intention of allowing the fortune teller to roam free and trip his plans up.

Getting rid of her should prove easy. Neros had plenty of power in his hands; after all, he was the Oracle now.

* * *

"Tha' yer lass?" A burly sailor nodded away from the ship, catching Ryoma's attention. "We saw yer with 'er yest'day. She looked dam keen on yer. Pretty, too."

The vessel had docked at the harbour of Mahdad with a booming horn. Like a team of clockwork toys, the sailors had sprung into action before that, readying the gangway, alerting the passengers to their arrival. The women had chattered, children tagging along in excitement as they crowded at the sides of the ship, looking at the stone buildings in awe. Hawkers bearing baskets of goods had flocked towards the jetty upon the lowering of the gangway, loudly peddling their wares.

Before he could make sense of the sailor's words, Ryoma turned, following the man's pointed stare. His heart sank.

Right in the middle of the metal gangway, amidst the passengers, was Rouge, her gaze set straight ahead. Her long chocolate braid swayed behind her body, golden bangle glinting in the sunlight. The white satchel bobbed at her side like a trusty companion. She was an orchid among the roses; try as he might, the samurai found his eyes anchoring onto her, watching as she stepped briskly onto the stone jetty, weaving through the vendors.

He had not meant to hurt her the way he did. Guilt rode up in his chest when he remembered her shocked expression, the sudden distance she had put between them. It had needed to be done, he told himself, and there had not been a better occasion for it. Ryoma knew he could not afford the proximity she wanted; hazy desire lurked within the depths of her unveiled eye each time he looked at her, and there was no question that she wanted more. Rouge, the succubus come to life, would eventually lead him astray from his path as a warrior.

That said, Rouge herself wasn't the sole cause of their parting.

What the samurai had refused to admit to was how easily his resolve slipped before her. All it took was the merest spark - one kiss, one caress - for his body to ignite... And the woman did not stop at just a single touch. She had kissed him thoroughly the night before, fondled him, set his lust afire like a lit match to kerosene. Now that she had opened his eyes to such pleasure, his blood thrummed for her. Ryoma had no faith in himself to keep his thoughts from straying, especially when she always lingered so close by. The only route out had been for them to part. He was a swordsman in training, and he needed to refine his skills.

"Yer like her."

He snapped out of his reverie, flicking his gaze sharply over to the sailor. The very idea that he would actually disregard his training and become romantically involved with Rouge sent a faint blush across his cheeks. It embarrassed him, tripped his thoughts. "I don't like her! W-well, not in that way, at least. She- she's just a friend!"

Yet, he could not help recalling how he had refused to look her in the eye earlier that morning, because he feared falling into that beckoning depth. It had felt too intimate staring at her that way. Even the split second their gazes locked had sent a shiver over his skin, because it jolted memories of how close they had been the night before. Rouge was just a special friend who was brave and attractive, and disregarding human life for her sake certainly did not mean he had a crush on her.

"Sure yer ain't got the hots for the girl." The older man stared him down with piercing green eyes, raising an eyebrow. There was a collected air about him that made Ryoma wonder if he wasn't in charge of at least a portion of the crew.

"I don't- I can't-" He stumbled on his defence, turning resolutely away from the side of the ship. There was no way he could answer that without giving himself away. Besides, time was better spent doing what he had stayed behind for. The majority of the passengers had disembarked by now. Fighting the colour on his cheeks, he changed the topic. "Shouldn't we bring the pirates to shore?"

"She's a rare 'un, lad, all pretty and gutsy. I ain't gonna let her slip if it was me." The sailor chuckled and clapped him on the back, ignoring Ryoma's indignant protest. He turned the swordsman in the direction of the stairs and took the lead. "Now, let's be hauling that swashbuckler scum outta the ship!"

* * *

Compared to the previous town in Sunland, Mahdad was a city, sprawling from the coast to a handful of miles inland, right up to the base of a tall volcano. A thin grey column of smoke drifted leisurely from the summit of Mount Ignis up towards the cloud-strewn sky, dispersing with the occasional zephyr. Next to the slopes of the landform was a large lake, deep blue and almost murky, connected to the sea by a slow river. Numerous low-rise buildings lay packed together across the dry land, each constructed of cement and bricks. While the houses of Sunland had tiled, slanted roofs and window grilles, those in Mahdad were far more simplistic, with flat tops and crude stone doorways. Balconies with metal railings were an uncommon, though not rare, sight in the city.

Rouge walked along the unpaved streets of Mahdad, taking her time to absorb the familiar scenes of her hometown. There had been more buildings added over the past five years she had been gone, and the old houses looked more run-down than ever. But more noticeable than anything else was how lifeless the streets were.

Many of the shops were unhappily patronless, and the roads were quiet. Children were no longer all about the alleys playing their childhood games, nor were the city's inhabitants exchanging friendly greetings. Instead, men crouched on their doorsteps and women huddled together, whispering gossip behind their white headscarves. People stared suspiciously at her when she passed their homes; mothers gathered their children close and shut their wooden doors, leaving the streets bare with empty windows gaping at her.

The fortune teller blinked in bewilderment, pushing along deeper into the heart of the city. Why were the townspeople treating her like a stranger? Her skin was of the same shade as theirs, and she looked every bit a native, if she did not take their conservative dress and headwear into account. More importantly, what had happened to Mahdad? When she left to travel the world, the city had been full of life, and it was a much happier place. Was this the dark shadow in her dream?

The answers she wanted would not come from the people on the streets. Biting her thumb in worry, Rouge cast her gaze about, temporarily thrown off her bearings. Having Ryoma's companionship at the moment would be something she could appreciate. It was unthinkable that what she thought impossible had happened - she felt like an outsider to her own hometown.

Mistress Ganna would know what was wrong.

Cursing herself at having forgotten about the old lady, Rouge brought her hands to her sides, striding quickly in the direction of the Oracle's Temple. At least there was one person in the whole city who would not shun her.

-

The Oracle's Temple resembled a palace made of gold. Built on the bank of Lake Debora, right next to the volcano, the temple consisted of a main building with a large domed roof, its very top ending in a spear-shaped point. Several short, thick columns supported the roof, each with vertical grooves molded into their surfaces. These columns joined the dome to another roof on a lower tier, the second roof being wider, with eight sloped sides. Yet more grooved pillars supported the wider roof, bound to each other by metal-reinforced glass walls. The entire temple was set on a raised golden platform, so high that it required a flight of stairs to be accessed. Four turrets stood at the corners of the platform like faithful sentinels, each with its own domed helmet.

To one side of the stairs was a pile of goods, offerings from the people of Mahdad. Fortune telling was taken very seriously in Fireland. At the start of each year, the Oracle would make a prediction on the country's future. The people gave up their possessions as offerings, in the hopes that the gods would bestow upon them good luck and health.

Rouge crossed the long dirt path leading from the city to the shrine. There had been few people along the way, though the decreased number might have been due to the heat of early afternoon. Her heart started to pound with excitement at the thought of seeing Ganna again. Did she look any older, and how was she getting by? Would Ganna want to hear about her travels? She started towards the gilded gold stairs.

"Rouge!" Sandal-clad feet stepped into view at the top of the steps, followed by the plain hem of a rich blue robe. "Welcome back, Rouge! It's been a long time!"

She paused in surprise, her gaze darting up towards the owner of the male voice. It was with great reluctance that her eyes took in the form of Neros. The seconds Rouge required to recognise him made her wish it had been minutes; he was one of the last people she had expected to see at the temple. Barely hiding her disdain, she stepped back, waiting for him to make his descent. So the man was still Ganna's assistant Oracle. They had never really gone along well before she left. Neros's eyes were always cunning and shifty, and she never trusted him. "Where is Ganna?"

"Ganna is no longer here. _I_ am the Oracle of the temple now!" Neros reached the packed dirt ground, his bushy eyebrows raised in superiority.

"_What?_" She felt her stomach flip nauseatingly. This could not be. Ganna was a sturdy rock in her life, a comforting presence come anything. There was no reason for the old lady to leave, and she had not foretold anything about her health. Her legs felt close to buckling. Blinking her eyes multiple times to make sure she had not hallucinated, Rouge made her way shakily to the bank of the lake, where an old log lay abandoned on the ground. She sat down heavily. It felt as though a large chunk of her had gone missing. "Where- where did Mistress Ganna go?"

"Who knows." Neros followed her to the water's edge, staring across the lake.

"Why would she- I don't understand. Why would she want to leave the temple?" She looked into the water, its rippling surface mirroring the uneasy confusion in her mind. Her heartbeat quickened with anxiety. It had never occurred that something this absurd could occur to her surrogate mother. Her thoughts raced, trying to come up with an explanation.

"Her abilities diminished. She lost the power of divination," the blue-dressed man told her nonchalantly, if a tad disapproving. "One day, the future went dark."

"How did this happen?" she asked disbelievingly, distraught. Rouge remembered clearly the aura that Ganna had whenever she made a prediction. That gift could not just disappear.

"Three years ago, I foresaw a volcanic eruption, but Ganna said no such thing would happen. Then, one week later, just as I foresaw, there was a huge eruption! The city was engulfed! There was fire everywhere! The temple was burnt and many treasures were lost."

Her mind reeled. Ganna made a wrong prediction? It sounded such a grave error. The image barely registered in her head. "How awful."

"No one was ready for it," Neros continued as if she had not said a thing. "So Ganna was blamed for not preparing everyone for the calamity. She had no alternative but to step down."

Rouge missed the man's slanted glance at her.

"And it was then that you became the Oracle?" she asked slowly, frowning. Something did not feel right about this.

"_I_ was _chosen_ by the people." Neros bared his teeth in satisfaction, not bothering to elaborate.

"Didn't you do anything to try and protect her?" She clenched her fists indignantly on her knees. Somewhere out there, Ganna would tell her the truth.

"I was _helpless_ to do anything alone. Besides, she had lost her gift. Without the power to See, one cannot be an Oracle." He stepped behind her when she hunched her shoulders, her heart sagging with disappointment. It felt as if she had failed somehow by not being around to defend her mentor. "Rouge!" Two large hands clapped onto her shoulders, forcing her forward slightly. She gasped at the impact, trying to make sense of what he was doing. Vaguely, she felt him crouch behind her, his voice suddenly lowering to her ear. "You're a grown-up now. Why not come back and then you can be at my side here at the temple?"

"I can't do that!" Faint shivers of disgust slithered along her nerves. She didn't want him, she wanted Ryoma. Sirens of warning blared in her mind, even as he transferred his weight onto her, leaning close enough that his robes brushed the skin at the small of her back. Her stomach constricted.

"Rouge. You'll live in luxury-" His warm breath rushed against her ear, eliciting a well of panic in her middle. He was not the samurai.

Bracing her heels against the ground, she propelled herself forward, out from under Neros's pressuring weight. He lost his balance momentarily. Rouge sprang to her feet and planted her hands on his chest, shoving him away roughly. Adrenaline pumped in her veins. "Get your hands off me and tell me where Mistress Ganna is!"

The new Oracle rubbed his wrist, staring at her darkly. His lips curled down beneath his moustache. "Who knows and who _cares_ where that tired old woman is!"

"Then I'll find her myself. Goodbye." She ignored his attention, turning sharply away, her braid swishing behind her. Neros had proven himself unworthy of her trust once again. Rouge tried to shake the prickle on her back under his fixed stare, heading quickly down the dirt path. If Ryoma were around, he would have prevented the man from getting too close to her. A wistful sigh escaped her lips.

From Neros's words, it was at least probable that Ganna was still alive and well somewhere. That was the single bright spot in the bad day she was having so far.

* * *

Ryoma strode along the streets, glancing warily at the unfriendly stares of the locals. The difference in dress had not bothered him much; hardly anyone wore the same clothes he did. What had him surprised, though, was how Rouge could be from such a place, where everyone was almost covered from head to toe, while she had barely anything on. She was so different from the people here.

The silent, resentful attention could not merely have resulted from his being a stranger to this land. From the corner of his eye, he looked back at those he had passed. They appeared just as miserable as before, as if he had never crossed their vision. Was the place always like this, and did Rouge really spend her childhood here?

He wandered through the streets of the city, looking up at the volcano as it loomed ever closer. Next to the crude, shackled pirates from the ship, he had come to realise that he missed Rouge's refinement and cheer. A handful of sailors had gone along with him to report their capture to the local officials. They weren't quite the same, even if they were an easygoing bunch. He imagined that Rouge must have met up with her mentor by now, all thought of him forgotten as she embraced her surrogate mother. Well, it was good for her, even if he felt a twinge of disappointment thinking that she might have had driven him out of her mind.

Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and he remembered that he had not eaten since noon. There had not been much he could afford on the ship. The week of intensive training for the match against Tsurugi had him running far less errands than he could afford; as a result, he found himself short on cash. It was a blessing that Rouge had taken it upon herself to pay for his meals despite his protests - he would have to return what he owed when he had enough. As it was, Ryoma had traded his remaining Sunland coins for the currency of Fireland. He would have to see if this city could spare him a job or two.

A light whiff of spices caught his nose. He followed it, trying to seek out a food stall. The shops were mostly empty, however. He had to look within to tell what each vendor was selling. With the state the city was in, food was probably not priced too steeply. It was three in the afternoon. He would buy whatever sustenance that was available now.

"You over there! The one with swords!"

He paused and blinked, turning around towards the owner of the voice. A tall, dark man had stepped out from one of the alleys he had passed, dressed in a white turban and blue robes. His shrewd eyes scanned over the samurai in appraisal. The latter held his ground, waiting for what the local had to say. Ryoma had done no wrong; there was no need to fear his attention. After moments, the man stepped closer, his bushy brows raised in favour of him.

"You look dependable, swordsman, and I have a job in need of your skills." The man stopped three feet away, a respectful distance. There appeared to be nobody else with him. The purple gem above his forehead gleamed in the sunlight, much like the one Rouge wore. "I am Neros. The reward will be a hundred gold pieces if you complete it satisfactorily."

"Really?" Ryoma felt his spirits rise by a large fraction. It was as if the gods had known of his plight. If he handled this well, the wounds from the day before would not be strained any more than was uncomfortable. "In that case, I'll take it, Neros. All you have to do is give me the word."

"Good, good. Come with me to the Oracle's Temple, and we shall discuss the details there," Neros told him with a contented smile, turning away. He rubbed his hands and stifled a chuckle.

"The Oracle's Temple? Sure." Setting his hunger aside, the samurai followed his future employer out of the city, taking note of his surroundings. Was Rouge at the temple too? Did she know this man? A shred of exhilaration wound itself into his veins at the prospect of glimpsing the fortune teller again. After all, they did not separate because he didn't like her. As long as he did not have to involve himself with the woman, things were good. She was more important to him than he would dare admit.

-

The temple had to be one of the most expensive he had ever seen. It was no surprise that the entire place looked to be built of gold - the people of Fireland seemed to love the precious metal. Rouge herself wore plenty of it, from her earrings and gold-mounted hairpiece, to her bangle and the heart-shaped ornament at the crotch of her pants. His cheeks heated when he remembered how intimately he knew her, willing the blush to go down. The taller man had fortunately not noticed.

"So, what kind of job is it that you have for me?" Ryoma broke the silence they had been travelling in. They scaled the stairs of the golden platform, heading towards the gilded dome. From the higher vantage point, Lake Debora seemed to stretch towards the horizon, glittering diamonds under the stifling sun. The quiet at the temple felt a little more natural than that in the city. Like the streets they had left, however, the temple compounds were almost devoid of life. A few men could be seen behind the temple itself, but none others had come this afternoon.

"I require you to find someone in the city and bring her to me," Neros divulged when they reached the shadowed interior of the building. His voice echoed around the chamber, almost as if inducing the flickering of flames in the wall brackets.

"You need a warrior for that?" Ryoma glanced around, taking in the high platform in the middle of the room. Light glinted off its steep polished sides. Through the metal-reinforced glass panes, he could see the sparkling lake past the boundaries of the temple. Perhaps Rouge had grown up here instead. This was far more peaceful than the lifeless city.

"Yes, your discretion and abilities should prove useful for this task. She might need a little... convincing." The dark man smiled briefly, baring his teeth. "When you've found this woman, bring her back here, to this temple. I will be waiting anxiously for your return."

"What does she look like?" Ryoma frowned. This was surely no ordinary female, if anyone less than a warrior could not complete this task. "Would it not be easier to put up notices for her?"

"Oh, she's a pretty young thing. Long hair, all tied up, about this tall-" Neros gestured to a height slightly shorter than Ryoma's, "-wears very, _very_ little." He clucked his tongue. "White underwear for her top, and purple pants. Such a disgrace, is it not? You'll find her easily if she dresses that way. The girl only shows one of her eyes. Thinks she's so mysterious, eh?"

"That sounds like Rouge..." Ryoma blurted, rubbing his chin as the mental images matched. His eyes snapped over to Neros. "What do you want with her?"

"Aah, so I see you've met." Neros's black eyebrows lifted. His smile grew wider. "That makes it _so much_ easier. Just bring her to this temple, samurai. You will be heavily rewarded for this."

"She doesn't want to be here, does she? If I have to "convince" her to come, it means you're telling me to kidnap her!" Ryoma frowned and clenched his fists as his facts clicked, turning to face the man fully. Neros had wanted him to bring Rouge here by force. The surge of protectiveness and anger must have shown on his face, because Neros gave a strained laugh and backed away, raising his hands. He could not trust this man. "What do you want with Rouge?"

"I mean her no harm! All I'm looking out for is her own good, you have to believe me!" Neros defended, his voice lifting with the local accent. His small eyes darted. The torches flickered behind him.

"I'm sorry, Neros, but I have to decline this offer. I am a man of honour, and I cannot bring Rouge to you. Where is she? Why isn't she at the temple?" His eyes narrowed, staring as the cloth around the man's head swayed. The still air resounded with his footsteps towards Neros. His target retreated by the same distance.

"Who knows! If I did, I would not have required your services!" Deep grooves crossed Neros's forehead as he frowned, staring at the younger man. There was no point trying to take on the swordsman at this point if challenged. He would need reinforcements to do so. "Begone with you!"

"Rouge is safer without you, Neros!" Ryoma growled, staring threateningly at the man, before spinning around to leave. There was no way he would turn her in to a man with bulging eyes like Neros. The only male he trusted to keep her safe was himself. Yet... he had chased her from him. Anger at himself and the turbaned man brewed hotly in his chest. To remedy the situation, he would have to seek her out and alert her to the man's intentions. He clenched his fists, stalking out of the door, but not before leaving Neros a threat, "Don't let me catch you harming her."

"Why would I do such a thing?" the robed man called out after his retreating figure, breathing a sigh of relief. There went a possible method to have Rouge under his thumb.

With Ryoma safely out of the way, the Oracle prowled further into the temple, towards the black crystal ball on the platform. Moments later, the pattering of footsteps sounded up the stairs. A man in the typical civilian clothes of a turban and robe stepped up close to him, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"We have received word that there are pirates imprisoned near the harbour, Sire. There is also a swordsman you might be interested in. He is waiting in the back room."

"Good, very good!" Neros rubbed his bony hands together in approval. The black crystal ball gleamed conspiratorially in front of him, like a partner in crime. "Send some men to the prison tonight, we can do with a few more hands. And tell the swordsman that I will have an audience with him shortly."

"Yes, Sire." The man bowed and stepped back, swiftly descending the platform stairs.

"You will not be Oracle, my dear Rouge! This luxury will be lost on you!" Neros chuckled, tracing the point of his moustache with a thumb and forefinger. He thought of the nubile fortune teller, picturing her as an obedient wife by his side. It was a delicious prospect. Cackling in delight, Neros headed down the stairs, making his way to one of the side chambers with ease.

The new swordsman who awaited him was definitely different. He was tall and thin, a head taller than Ryoma. Unlike the dull navy-and-brown clothes of the latter, this man wore a blood-red _kimono_ top and _hakama_, similarly armed with two swords in mahogany scabbards. His face was eagle-like; raven hair was tied back to a side in a ponytail. He had been staring out of the glass-paned walls, arms folded, before Neros made his entrance.

"I overheard you trying to hire that Akudo Dojo failure," Tsurugi Akira drawled, slowly turning to face Neros.

"Why, yes, do you know him too?" Neros raised his eyebrows, deciding that he liked the look of this swordsman. Even his attitude was far more pleasing.

Tsurugi snorted. "Kid seems to be following me around everywhere. I'll complete that job for you if the price is tripled, no questions asked."

"Very well, it's a deal!" Neros laughed, rubbing his hands together. Three hundred gold pieces were nothing if he got to keep his title as Oracle. The people's possessions were worth many times that, and he was easily one of the richest men in Mahdad, with a hand dipping into the combined wealth of the city.

* * *

It seemed that no one knew where Ganna was.

For the past hour and a half, Rouge had scouted the city by herself, looking for anyone who appeared remotely like her mentor, with her short, plump form. If she had some luck, her surrogate mother would still be wearing her Oracle's clothes - a white headscarf and a plain forest-green dress with long sleeves. But no matter where she looked, there was no sign of the old lady. Time had started to slip by, forcing Rouge to approach the people on the streets, even as they kept their distance and responded warily. All their answers had been negative.

Biting her lip in frustration, the woman strode briskly through the streets, hoping to cover as much ground as she could before dark. She had still not yet found a place to lodge in for the night. With bitter irony, she imagined that Ryoma would have somewhere to stay long before she did, when this was the city she was most familiar with. So much had changed over the last twenty-four hours. Wishing for either Ganna's presence or Ryoma's warmth, and having neither, Rouge headed down a small alley which faced the backs of stone shop houses. There was barely anyone here.

A light tug on her satchel brought her gaze swinging to the side, where there was, his small brown hand extending beneath the flap of her bag, a little boy no older than seven, staring at her with large dark eyes similar to her own. A faded green shirt and pants covered his thin frame. He yelped in surprise, snatching his hand from her bag, together with a flash of purple that she identified as her purse the instant he spun on his heels, dashing down the alleyway she had come from. Rouge gaped in shock.

"Stop, thief!" she hollered, taking off after the boy, her slippered feet pounding as she chased the nimble pickpocket. Despite her strides being longer, he was just as fast, snapping his head around to glance at her, before putting more energy into his pumping legs, bare feet pattering on the packed dirt ground.

It seemed that none of the bystanders would lend her a hand, merely watching when she cursed at him, skidding with each sharp corner turn he took, her satchel bouncing on her thigh as she sprinted after the thief. Damn it, she needed that money. That was all she had on her. If she couldn't find Ganna, those coins would go into her lodging.

An unladylike growl slipping from her throat, Rouge put all her strength into her legs, propelling herself forward. Her muscles burned. The peeling brick walls flashed past her, and her heart thundered, but all she cared about was how her outstretched fingers inched ever closer to the boy, until she flicked her wrist and caught the collar of his shirt, yanking him to a halt with a jerk.

He cried out as his body snapped backwards, arms flailing at his sides to keep his balance. Rouge reached forward and snatched her purse from his small hand, sending him a fierce glare as she panted for breath.

The boy whimpered and gazed longingly at her wallet, before glancing fearfully at her, breathing hard. He strained forward, away from her. "Lemme go!"

"No! I should teach you a lesson for robbing women." Rouge stared hard at him, taking in the worn clothes he was wearing, his feet dusty and without protection. He had an impish face, almost bony, with tousled short hair and ears that stuck out like a monkey's. Her memory was jolted by his dressing, back to years ago, when she was alone on the streets. Pity for the boy almost made her loosen her grip on his shirt, but she remembered the tenacity of alley kids, keeping a safe distance from him. In a gentler tone, she asked, crouching to his height, "Why did you steal my purse?"

He shook his head and looked obstinately away from her. They were in another quiet alley this time, she noticed.

Rouge tried again, unfazed, staring at his turned head. "Is there someone making you steal from others?"

"No!" The boy shook his head vigorously, causing locks of his hair to flop about.

She squeezed her palm-sized purse with her other hand, estimating that the amount in there could get her enough food for a week, lodging for a few days, and a trip back to Sunland. At his answering silence, she tucked the purse back into her satchel, gripping his shoulders firmly and turning him around to face her. "Then why were you stealing from me? I'm trying to help you, little boy. I grew up in this place myself."

"Not with that new Oracle, you haven't," he spat, squirming in her grasp. His gaze flickered to her bag and the alley behind her. It seemed as if he was planning for an escape.

The woman frowned. How could the boy have known about the change? He would only have been four then. "How did you know about Neros?"

"My Ma told me. Now lemme go!" he repeated, jerking his shoulders when her grip started to weaken. He made a face at her, kicking at her knees. She winced and held on to him.

"I will. Just answer one last question for me - were you stealing for your family?" Rouge watched his expression carefully. A tiny idea was starting to take shape in her mind.

The boy nodded reluctantly, avoiding her gaze. "My sisters are hungry."

"Could you bring me to your home? I'd like to help your family out a little."

Stricken, the boy stared wide-eyed at her, shaking his head. His offense stopped. "You can't tell on me to Ma! Papa might hear and hit me!"

Rouge bit her lip. It was painful to imagine the belting some children received when they committed misdeeds. She held onto the boy, looking straight at him. "I promise I won't tell your Ma. Will that do?"

He nodded reluctantly again, staying still when she finally released his shoulders. Distrust lingered in his eyes. "How're you gonna help?"

"Is there anyone selling bread on the way to your home? I'll get your family some as a gift." She raised her eyebrows and watched him uncertainly for his reaction. The bread sold locally was dense and flat, a staple food next to rice. He said nothing, but the shy, delighted smile that crept up his lips was all she needed.

They ended up purchasing a pile of the local bread, and as large a sack of rice as the boy could carry. There was a cheerful glow to his face that brought joy to her heart when she looked at him.

The boy's father was not present when they arrived; only a pregnant woman the boy addressed as "Ma", and two other dark-skinned girls hiding behind her long skirt. Rouge had stood back at the door while the boy chattered excitedly to his mother in the dim room, easing the older woman's suspicious stare. She was glad that she had brought ample food for the family - their living quarters were small and cramped, with hardly space for five.

"You are very kind, Miss." The woman finally stepped forward, clasping Rouge's hands with her own. "Thank you for your gifts."

"My name is Rouge. It was nothing." Rouge smiled in relief, drawing a hand away and pressing the remainder of her fare to Sunland into the woman's hand. "It's what Ganna would have done. Your son told me about Neros-"

"You know of Ganna?" The woman looked at her in surprise, accepting the money with a small smile, her thin face illuminated by the light from the streets. Then she blinked, recognition filling her eyes. "Now I remember! You were the girl who was always with Ganna, weren't you? So it was true that you left Fireland.

"Yes, I believe Neros is the cause of all this. Before Ganna lost her Sight, all was well in the country, but after the fire and Neros took over, we have been thrown into poverty. The gods don't seem to favour Neros as Oracle. Each year he predicts eruptions, and each year we give plenty of offerings to the gods, only to grow poorer and poorer. My husband believes in Neros, and I am powerless to stop him when it is time to make offerings. I have to keep my children safe."

Rouge frowned, her spirits sinking. So Neros had not been lying. It still confused her how Mahdad could have suffered when Neros used his divination for the good of the city. Ganna would know, and this woman seemed to be familiar with her mentor to some extent. "I am very sorry to hear about this, Ma'am, and I wish I could do more to help. Tell me, do you know where I can find Mistress Ganna?"

"Your generosity is still much appreciated, Rouge." She lowered her head in thought, watching as her children tucked into the unleavened bread. "I've heard rumours that she lives by herself at the foot of Mount Ignis, on the other side of the city. Maybe you'll find her there."

Her eyes widened. That might be what she had been trying to seek for the past hour or so. Hope surged in her chest. With her heart quickening in excitement, Rouge squeezed the woman's hands, smiling gratefully at her. "Thank you very much, ma'am. I'll remember you for this."

The woman returned the smile warmly, petting her hand. "Thank _you_, Rouge. We are indebted to your kindness. Good fortune to you."

With the mother and her children at their door bidding her goodbye, Rouge hurried off back towards the volcano, praying that the information was not a false lead.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes: **_One of my favourite chapters, sorry for the wait. I was busy with chapter 9 of the uncut version, which is on my LJ. :P All I can say about this chapter is, I prefer the uncensored version more. :P_

_**Update 31st Oct 2010:** Since there appears to be people actually reading this, I'd just like to drop a note that the full (and uncensored) version of Across Lands can be found on my LJ (link is on my profile) since I don't have time to censor the rest of the fic. Thanks for reading, and comments are very appreciated!_

* * *

The land was more barren to the west of Mahdad than it was at the east; while trees and bushes thrived near the shores of Lake Debora, there was hardly a shrub on the other side of the volcano. The sounds of wildlife were a rarity in this area. Like the rest of the city, the ground at the base of the landform was dry and packed, and not a soul could be seen. Sturdy grasses yielded to the occasional gust of wind racing in from the large stretch of uninhabited land beyond Mount Ignis. Rock outcrops and the rare plant peppered the horizon.

There had been no building in sight at first. Rouge had wondered about the pregnant lady's directions when she reached the northwest border of the city, where the number of buildings diminished. Past that, the land lay lifeless as far as she could see, with a lizard dashing across the uneven ground every so often. It brought disappointment to her hopes, but despite that, the fortune teller had pushed ahead, skirting the elevated land briskly. She had not come this far for naught.

It was another quarter hour later that she caught a glimpse of a small building, nestled on the base of Mount Ignis. Renewed excitement pounded in her chest. She quickened her footsteps, scanning the structure as it came more fully into view.

The shack was, at best, as wide as a large room. It resembled a block of stone, with a square built into one wall as a crude window, and a rectangle for an entrance. Fading paint on the door almost blended the wood into its surroundings. Large cracks ran down along the walls, betraying their age. A simple wooden fence surrounded the sides and back of the building, enclosing what appeared to be a vegetable patch. What struck her, however, was the green-clad figure next to a stone well, three yards away from the door. A white hood and shawl completed the outfit, sending her heart leaping with recognition. There was only one person she knew who dressed in this manner.

"Mistress Ganna!" she called, running forward, the growing ache in her feet forgotten. A maelstrom of words swirled in her mind. Had Mistress Ganna changed any? Was she happy that her adopted daughter had finally returned? Nothing else had ever brought her such jubilation that her heart almost burst into song.

The figure at the well turned, lifting a heavy jug of water, her round, brown face written over with surprise and hesitation. "Rouge," she shouted, her old voice quavering, "You must leave here immediately!"

She halted in shock, four yards away, blinking rapidly in confusion, blood pumping in her veins. _Why?_ "But Mistress Ganna-"

"Do you remember a dream you had a long time ago?" The older woman stared fixedly at her over the frame of her tiny eyeglasses, her purple-black eyes lucid and steady. "In your dream, you stood under a bright red full moon, and it was then when you saw your destiny as an Oracle was foretold. You left this city, and vowed to not return until you were ready to fulfill your path."

"And for five years, I travelled the world over, telling fortunes." Rouge took a step forward, the memories of her dreams resurfacing. "But I had another dream. It was a very different kind of dream. I dreamt of a dark shadow over Fireland."

As if in slow motion, the large earthen jug in Ganna's hands slipped, falling to the floor, cracks spreading over its surface as it smashed with a final symphony. Chocolate-brown pieces scattered over each other; water splashed and seeped between the broken shards, darkening the ground. The ceramic fragments barely missed Ganna's feet. She stared speechlessly at Rouge, stunned. The latter returned her gaze evenly.

Moments passed before the old lady found her voice. "I understand. Come inside."

The excitement in her veins cooling, Rouge followed her mentor into the stone house, noting how Ganna looked the same as before, albeit thinner. Age had settled into her limbs and slowed her footsteps. Despite her slight difficulty with walking, Ganna smiled and declined when Rouge touched her elbow, offering her support wordlessly.

The former Oracle shut the door quietly once Rouge had set foot into her living quarters, shrouding them in semi-darkness. Sunlight streamed through the only two windows, providing just enough illumination to render lighting a gas lamp unnecessary. Ganna gestured towards the small wooden table and two chairs in the middle of the room, indicating that her surrogate daughter have a seat.

Contrary to the exterior, the house was decently furnished on the inside. To the right of the door was a short table, on which was placed Ganna's own crystal ball and a book. A single bed stood at the far corner, draped with a plain sheet, two feet away from the table the shorter woman seated herself at. A tiny stove made its home on the opposite corner, beneath a sturdy wooden shelf supporting a row of jugs and pots. Two stacked crates and a vase were placed to the left of the door, completing the set of furniture within the brick shack.

Amidst the whirling questions in her mind, Rouge finally relieved herself of her bag and settled across Ganna in the other rickety chair. The latter had lowered her white headscarf, revealing her bob of greyish hair, which looked whiter than Rouge remembered it to be. She had not realised that the years took a greater toll on her surrogate mother than herself. Ganna merely stared at her and waited for her to speak.

They would have had a merry reunion at the Oracle's Temple right now if it weren't for what Neros had said. Ganna would not have to live in shambles, and the city's inhabitants would not have treated her as they did. Unsettled, Rouge pushed herself to her feet, placing her hands on the table. "Fireland has been transformed since I left. It's become dark and joyless. What happened here? W-why is Neros in power?"

Her mentor waved at her to remain seated. Biting her lip, Rouge sank back into her chair, her spine taut, tracing the wrinkles on Ganna's face with her eye. At the very least, she was back with someone important now.

"Neros is in power because he sees things that I am unable to see. Each year, Neros foresaw when exactly a volcanic eruption would occur. For years, his predictions have come true-"

"Each year?" Rouge frowned, thinking back to her meeting with the dark-skinned man. It did seem that he was telling the truth in this aspect as well.

Her mentor groaned, propping her elbows on the table and clasping her hands. Her dark purple eyes were downcast. "Yes, and I still can't believe it... But each time Neros could see exactly what would happen. That's why the people chose Neros as the Oracle of the temple. And now... Neros lives in luxury, and does as he pleases. He has caused great suffering to the people of Mahdad. He is not behaving as the Oracle should!"

Ganna shook her head, her tone growing agitated, unclasping her hands and laying them on the table. She continued, her voice quavering. "Since no one needed me, I left the temple and lived quietly in this shack ever since."

"But Neros's predictions! Surely there's something amiss. I still don't believe that your Sight would ever go wrong." Rouge bit her lip, looking at the resigned old lady and taking one of her calloused hands into her own. Her thoughts meshed into confusion. There had to be a way to improve the situation in Mahdad.

"Perhaps the loss of my divination and Neros's greed is the dark shadow you saw in your dream, Rouge. I don't know what to do about it. The people don't trust me anymore, and I don't see how I can help them with what I have." Ganna slouched, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Rouge wanted to comfort her mentor somehow, but the means to escaped her. Giving Ganna's hand a squeeze, she rose to her feet. "I'll talk to Neros about this, Mistress Ganna. Maybe I'll manage to convince him to stop placing such a burden on the people."

"No, don't leave just yet, Rouge. I don't trust Neros to change his mind that easily. Besides, it's late now, and we haven't talked in so long." The disgraced Oracle gazed fondly upon her, patting her hand, as if speaking to her adopted daughter eased her frustration at herself. "Do sit down and tell me about your travels."

"But- I... Okay." The fortune teller could not bring herself to oppose her mentor. After all, it was understandable how Ganna felt - she had been helplessly watching the unjust done to the city's people for so long that a slight delay would make the barest difference. With a sigh, she returned to her chair, delving into her memories. "I met a great many people on my travels-"

The image of Ryoma's smile came to mind. It felt forbiddingly intimate to think of him right before her mentor, and her heart tripped at the prospect of talking about him. Rouge forced the thought away, a telling heat rising on her cheeks. Ganna's thin eyebrows rose. Pretending the slip had not occurred, Rouge bit her tongue and finished the sentence, "-and they were all very interesting, Mistress Ganna!

"There was this large man in Goldland who resembled a boulder, and all his sons looked exactly like him! They messed up the tent I was using to tell fortunes in, but he was a real gentleman about it - he even helped to tidy the catastrophe his sons left behind." Rouge smiled at the memory, her eyes glazing over in recollection. "In Aqualand, I told the fortune of the girl who was going to bring rain to a draught-ridden country... The ruler of the land was odd - he had competitions in his gardens to see who could drink with a pile of straws joined end to end."

They continued in this vein for an hour or so, and Rouge managed to ease a few chuckles from Ganna, drawing her away from the gloom she was used to. It gladdened her to see her mentor finally cheering up again.

"How was your journey back to Fireland?" Ganna asked suddenly, when their conversation drew into a lull. Rouge blinked in surprise, her memories fast-forwarding to the day before.

"We... ran into pirates," was the least she could say. At her mentor's expression of shock, she hurried to add, "The... the samurai I was travelling with fought them off and slayed the pirate captain. He was rather heavily injured, though."

Ryoma filled her vision.

Images from the day before rushed by her, a river beneath her feet. She remembered how the man had looked at her, how deliciously strong he was. How he had tasted and felt beneath her. How he had blushed and gave in and lost control because he wanted her. How he had dissolved into fury and killed for her sake. Her chest tightened with longing; she missed him. It still stung to remember his parting words.

"Rouge? Rouge?" Ganna peered at her. She blinked with a start, embarrassed, trying to appear unflustered. "How is that samurai now?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't see him after I left the ship," she mumbled, blinking to clear her thoughts. Forcing the swordsman from her mind, she cast about for another subject. "Oh! How have you been getting by all these years, Mistress Ganna? The city is too far for you to be travelling there daily."

"The well and the vegetables I grow are mostly sufficient," Ganna replied, her gaze boring into Rouge. She resisted the urge to squirm. The older woman knew as well as she did that she could not fall in love with anyone, for the sake of being an Oracle. "Every few days, I travel to the city for fresh supplies, but even the scraps are shrinking in portion these days."

Her heart squeezed at how harsh a life her surrogate mother had to lead now. A glance at the window told her that it was an hour to sunset; she would have time to hurry out and buy them both a decent meal before the last rays of sunlight faded. "I know, I'll head back to the city to get us both something for dinner. How about that, Mistress Ganna? Just to celebrate our little reunion."

"You don't have to. The city's too far away!" Her mentor rose to her feet to stop her as she got up to leave. "I do have some food we can share."

"You deserve better," she told the older woman gently, patting her hand and giving her a quick hug. "After all, you're the mother I never had."

"Oh, Rouge." Ganna's sad eyes moistened as she returned the embrace.

"I'll be back in an hour." The fortune teller flashed her a quick smile, fishing out some coins from her purse. She was going to get Ganna one of her favourite local snacks as a surprise; it had slipped her mind while she was on the search for this place. With a fond smile and a wave at her mentor, Rouge slipped out of the door, heading back to Mahdad, coins jingling merrily in her pocket.

It took a far shorter period for her to reach the city this time. Rouge wandered through the alleys, looking around briskly for food stalls. Meeting up with Ganna had brought joy to her day, easing a quiet hum from her throat. She thought about Ryoma, and how it would be the slimmest of chances that she would catch sight of him again in the large city. Her heart fluttered. Was he thinking of her?

So preoccupied was Rouge that she missed the almost-silent footsteps gaining up on her from behind, until she felt the swift blow of pain at the back of her neck.

It was too late to do anything then, because her body slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Straw-slippered feet pounded through the dusty streets. Breath rasped hotly past his lips as he flicked his head to either side, glancing down each alley he passed for the faintest glimpse of a bangle-tipped braid or a sliver of loose purple pants. There had been none through the past two hours he had been searching. Rivulets of sweat carved trails down his temples and throat, soaking his bandages and the thick protective material of his _kimono_ top.

Ryoma clenched his fists, pausing to figure out where he should search next. The city was so huge that it would take a few days to run through every alley, and he could not afford to do just that. Rouge would be in danger long before he found her, and it would be his fault. His heart hammered within his chest.

Not for the first time, the samurai berated himself for forcing her to leave. What had he been thinking? He had promised to protect her on their journey here. If anything happened to her... His chest tightened. It wasn't quite about keeping his word anymore, but a desire to see her safe and happy. She wasn't like the other girls he had met on his journey; it scared him to admit that what he felt for her transcended what he should rightly feel for a friend. Perhaps it was just an illusion brought about by his hormones. She was just a very special friend. Yes, that was it. Friend or special friend, he swore that he would ensure her safety.

By this time, Ryoma had regained his breath, shifting his feet to take his bearings. The wounds on his back murmured dully in pain, but he ignored that easily, reasoning that he would have plenty of time afterwards to ease the strain on his injured muscles. For now, he would concentrate his efforts on Rouge.

It struck him that Neros might already have got his hands on Rouge. If he did, she would be at the Oracle's Temple, from the man's previous instructions. Worry began its invasion into his chest anew. If Rouge had not been captured yet, he would hide himself near the temple and strike once he saw her. The swordsman clenched his jaw and turned in the direction of the looming volcano, taking off at a run.

* * *

Red-orange infiltrated black and filled her lids with colour. The hints of an ache lingered at the back of her neck, as if hailing the return of her senses. _What happened?_ With a soft moan, Rouge stirred and cracked her eyes open, peach tones bathing her vision. She blinked and shook her head, pushing herself to a sitting position on the cool, smooth floor. Sunlight flooded the high chamber through the metal-reinforced glass walls, enriching the gilded surfaces with red. Across the sparkling gemstones on the surface of Lake Debora, the sky lay streaked with pink and golden oil pastels, heralding the setting of the crimson sun.

She was in the Oracle's Temple, she realised. Her thoughts raced and stumbled. How did she get here?

"She is awake, Sire."

It was the unfamiliar voice of a male, standing over her from behind. Her heart missed a beat in surprise; she had not prepared herself for anyone being that close to her. Twisting at her waist, Rouge turned around, the robed figures of two of Neros's men coming into view, each two feet away. A quick breath darted between her lips. She pushed herself backwards, cursing when the glass panels restricted her from moving further.

"Good. Secure the girl and stand her up to face me." Neros's lilting voice resounded within the chamber.

Past the two men closing in on her, she caught sight of Neros, in his blue robe and turban, descending from the platform stairs assuredly. Her forehead creased with a frown. The movement of her would-be captors reminded her of how urgent the situation was. Bracing her palms on the smooth floor, she pushed herself to her feet, urging her legs to put more distance between the minions and herself as she squeezed between the sturdy glass panes and the outstretched arm of one robed man. The lack of a momentum turned out to be her shortcoming.

Strong fingers closed around her wrist, tugging her backwards, forcing a yelp from her throat. Rouge yanked on her arm to free it, fear slipping down her gullet. On impulse, she whirled around to aim a kick at the man's groin, only to find that he was angled away from her by some sheer chance. She cursed. Her blood coursed with adrenaline. She pulled harder on her trapped hand, casting her gaze about for an escape as the other man closed in from her side.

She swung herself towards her captor, away from his accomplice, aiming a kick at her original target but missing, catching him on the inner thigh instead. He grunted. The grip on her wrist tightened, and she tried to put herself as far away from the man's partner as possible, only to have a flurry of hands dart forward and grab her other arm, anchoring her down despite her frustration. It took a while for her capture to sink in. Her heart protested within her ribs.

They turned her around to face Neros, her defeat all the more humiliating with her outburst of energy. Irritation bubbled within her middle. She tugged on her arms, but Neros's henchmen had iron grips on her. They stared at their employer without expression, awaiting his next order. It was almost a sick replay of what happened with the pirates the day before. She could not tell which was worse - the plunderers' lewd gropes, or the Oracle's betrayal. Why would he hold her captive if she had done no wrong? An angry snarl slipped from her throat. "What is the meaning of this, Neros?"

The man laughed in cold amusement, reaching the bottom of the stairs and strolling towards her, his bony hands tucked behind his back. She glared at him. It was apparent now why the city suffered under his guidance, and why Ganna felt so resigned about her fate. Neros operated without a sense of justice. Without any solid evidence against him, there was no way he could be fairly dealt with.

"Ah, you must understand, Rouge, I'm doing this for your own good." The dark-skinned man stopped a yard before her, his lips curled in an attempt at a winning smile. He tugged at a pointed end of his moustache. Small black eyes hovered on her face. "You left the temple so suddenly that I had no time to discuss this with you."

"Discuss what with me, exactly?" She stared suspiciously at him, acutely aware of how her arms were bound and stationary. He was going to force her to accept whatever he proposed. It did not bear well for her, regardless of whether she approved of his opinion. Her thoughts slipped momentarily, to Ryoma, wondering if he was walking about the city somewhere, innocently unaware that she had been taken captive by someone in her profession. Her heart tightened, half-wishing that he could be here with her, only to remember that she would be a hindrance to him. His rejection still stung.

"The offer for you to be at my side, of course." Neros smiled at her, though it was more of a gesture to bare his teeth. The golden glow of sunset did not lessen his unappealing countenance. "Think hard on it, Rouge. Be my wife. We can live in luxury together."

An involuntary shudder slithered across her skin. She made no mention of the way her stomach squeezed. Instead, her frown deepened, and she stared at the tall man, disgust flitting across her face. The idea of living with Neros sent her speechless with queasiness. Did the man actually think she would agree? "Not in a million years-"

"_No!_"

The chamber's main doors had burst open in a resounding bang that echoed throughout the enclosed space. All four heads of those present snapped towards the sound in surprise. Rouge felt her heart skip a beat. She knew that voice, could recognise it anywhere. Her heart starting to hammer wildly in excitement, she strained against her binds, twisting herself around for a better look at the man who unknowingly snatched her breath away.

He was a dark silhouette against the orange sunbeams, his shadow stretching long across the gilded floor, a threatening battle flag of a warrior come to save the day. She could not make out the expression on his face, instead tracing the outline of his form, from the raven brush sweeping to one side of his head, down his strong, stocky body, to the horizontal sword behind his waist, and the shorter one by his side. His feet were braced apart, straw-slippered, his sturdy calves bound with baggy trousers and plain cloth that clung to his muscles. Given the chance, she would learn every single inch of his body.

It was a miracle how he had come. Rouge thanked the gods fervently, wishing that she were free to give him an affectionate bodily tackle. Or a kiss. She wanted to taste him again.

Ryoma stepped forward, one hand circling the scabbard of his _wakizashi_, staring murderously at Neros. If the dark man so much as lay a finger on the fortune teller, he would draw his blade on him, Oracle or not. No man with honour touched a woman without her permission.

He stopped four yards away from the group, when his eyes met Rouge's. For some reason, his stomach flipped, and he felt abnormally happy to see her, even if she was being held captive. Releasing her easily was a given; her captors hardly posed a threat. By now, his breathing had evened out from the incensed dash he had made from the city. Sweat plastered his bandages and clothes together. It felt as if their gazes had locked for an eternity, until he tore his attention away, turning to her captor. "I will not allow you to marry Rouge. Release her at once."

"And why, pray tell, is that? You have no business in my affairs, samurai!" Neros lifted his thick eyebrows condescendingly, rubbing his hands. "Rouge and I share history together."

"What?" the woman protested, staring so incredulously at Neros that it was obvious who he should trust. Her gaze flew back to him, almost beseechingly. "Don't believe Neros, Ryoma. He's just out to manipulate others."

"I have business in Rouge's affairs," Ryoma snapped, barely heeding her words. The ebony scabbard was starting to warm against his fingers. He stared hard at the Oracle. His temper was rising, and he felt oddly protective of Rouge. It was just not fair that she was being forced to make a decision she clearly did not want, especially when it concerned her desires. They had shared far more than she ever would with Neros. "Because Rouge is very special to me!"

Rouge thought her heart had stopped permanently. Despite what Ryoma had told her earlier that day, did he actually... like her? Blood rose to her cheeks, and she stared hopefully at him, remembering to catch her breath. Her heart started to pound again, heavy with anticipation. "Ryoma!"

"You... what?" Neros frowned and peered at him, his eyebrows lifting ever higher.

He froze at Rouge's voice, flushing deeply. Those words were not meant for her ears, and they certainly were not a confession. He was a samurai; he only had training to be concerned with in his life. Yet, part of it had been true. There wasn't much he would not do for the woman, he realised, but he certainly did not have feelings of the romantic sort for her!

Why, then, was he blushing? Caught in the mess he created, Ryoma dipped his head, unable to face both Rouge and Neros. Sweat beaded down the sides of his cheeks. His heart pounded slowly, almost as if delighting in his situation. "She's very special as a..."

"As what?" The Oracle watched his embarrassment coolly.

"She's... uh... she's very special... uh... she's _just a friend_!" he finally shouted, squeezing his eyes shut. That was what they were supposed to be, and that was what he chose to believe. The vestiges of his outburst lingered in the temple.

Her heart squeezed tightly with disappointment; the colour on her cheeks faded as she slumped back into her captors' grips, drawing deep breaths. Perhaps it had been too soon for her to hope for anything on Ryoma's part. Rouge chanced a glance at the samurai.

"Well, then it makes no difference to you whether Rouge is getting married," Neros continued smoothly, smiling at Ryoma in satisfaction.

Those words brought life back into the latter's eyes. He stood tall, frowning at his contender. "I'm afraid I can't let you have Rouge, Neros. Neither of us trusts you. It seems that I'll have to take her from you myself."

She watched as Ryoma gripped the hilt of his sword, readying it to be drawn. A sudden, slight shadow at the doorway appeared seconds later, catching her attention. Who was it? Her gaze flew to Neros, who seemed to be aware of the figure's presence, looking over Ryoma's shoulder. The swordsman had not noticed. Neros's fingers twitched at his side, almost a silent command, and before she could find her voice to alert her protector, the figure at the doorway raised a thin pipe to his lips. Fear silenced his name at the tip of her tongue.

Rouge did not see the dart until it had lodged itself in Ryoma's neck, rendering him wide-eyed for a moment. He reached back and snatched it off, bringing it forward, recognition dawning in his eyes. She saw him turn towards her in warning, staring at her wordlessly for taut seconds, lips parted, before his eyes rolled back in his head. He slumped to the ground with a heavy thud. Her heart clenched painfully. She panicked, shouted his name, stared accusingly at Neros. Surely he had not killed the man. "You beast! How could you do that to him?"

But her words died mid-struggle, when a sharp prick buried itself into the base of her throat. Her heartbeats stumbled, and she blinked, trying to make sense of first the pain, and then the numbness spreading through her body. Neros's smug face was the last thing she saw before the poison drew her back into the realm of unconsciousness.

* * *

She wondered why it was that this darkness shrouded her so often. It had not been too long ago that she was last here, only to have bright orange fingers drag her away, into something less of a dream. There was no colour this time, just the murmur of voices far away.

It was cold. It was cold, but her stomach felt oddly warm. Her skin was pressed into some uneven, hard surface that was highly uncomfortable, and her limbs were stiff. She wanted to remove herself from the ground. It had to be a floor. Air brushed over a large portion of her body, sending shivers rippling over her form. Something was amiss. She hardly was this cold when she slept. A low groan slipping from her throat, Rouge stirred for the third time that day.

A low ceiling met her disoriented gaze the moment she opened her eyes, joined to three walls and a row of vertical bars. It was dark all about, with light dancing from a torch secured to the side, and an orange glow extending along the adjacent passage. Rouge jolted to her senses, albeit there was a slight dizziness tugging at her head. The sinking dread in her middle was exacerbated when her bare skin caught on the rough floor, accentuating her lack of clothes. There was no need to look to tell that she was well and truly naked. Her head spun. A sweet, herbal taste lingered on her tongue.

What had Neros done?

Trying to fend off her building panic, Rouge shifted her awkwardly-placed right hand, only to realise that it caught after a certain distance with a metallic rattle. The apprehensive look backwards verified that she was handcuffed to a metal cell bar. She cursed, tugging at her arm. The shackle clinked mockingly and dug into the skin of her wrist. Its outline fuzzed a little, then cleared again. The woman bit her lip, lifting her head off the ground to get a better look at her surroundings, her left forearm slipping over her chest to preserve whatever grain of modesty she had left.

The cell was empty with the exception of one other figure on the floor a few feet away. Whitish lengths of cloth bound his chest and shoulders - aside from that, he was just as bare as she was. The sturdy profile and strong arms were easily recognisable. Her pulse quickened in response. _Ryoma._

He was placed at an angle to her; his head was within reach if she were to extend her leg. Mixed emotions welled up in her chest, a swirl of gladness and trepidation. It was some comfort that he was around, but the man himself probably would not think the better of it. What on earth was Ganna's disloyal assistant planning? Their clothes were nowhere to be seen.

Rouge frowned worriedly, reaching over to prod Ryoma's arm with her toes, hissing his name. He did not budge.

Slowly, she eased herself up and leaned against the metal bars, so that she was no longer lying supine. Her vision was still a little hazy, but at least the weight in her mind was ebbing. It seemed that they were in a disused prison. Across the corner, an empty cell stared back at her, hollow and forbidding. The passage was left unlit on one end, with just the metal bars of the cells visible by the bright torchlight. Orange illumination led away from the passage on the other end, enveloping a table and two chairs half-hidden from where they were. Two guards talked quietly there - they were undoubtedly Neros's henchmen.

Her gaze flitted about, taking the locked, tempered door into account, as well as the narrow gaps between the bars and the lack of a window. How long they had been knocked out for, she could not tell. Only the gods knew what Neros had done to them while they had been unconscious.

They didn't belong here. At this time... she was supposed to be with Ganna, merrily enjoying their dinner together. Ryoma was supposed to be somewhere far away in Mahdad.

Damn it. Mistress Ganna was probably worrying about her. They had to escape somehow. Her gaze slid over to Ryoma, softening, sweeping over his body. She shifted so more light fell onto his form. A slow heat started between her legs as she admired how naked he was, memories of his hard body invading her mind.

Rouge bit her lip, quelling her thoughts. It was surprisingly easy to remember those sensations, but she didn't know why. There were more pressing matters at hand. Extending her foot towards his middle, she nudged the samurai none too gently with her toes. "Ryoma!"

He snuffled and stirred at her muted voice, rolling away. Rouge fought the urge to prod him a little harder, despite her body's apparent interest in him. "Ryoma! Wake up!"

The samurai mumbled and opened his eyes, blinking and staring as she had done. Her heart fluttered at the sight of his face. It was another moment before their surroundings dawned on him, and he turned to take stock of what he had, first looking at her blearily, then down at himself. A strangled yelp escaped his lips. He turned back to her, as if to talk, but gaped and flushed instead. His gaze coasted down her body nonetheless. Hardly any detail could be seen with her back to the torch; she angled herself towards the light source, giving in to the urge to let her arm slip beneath the full contours of her breasts. Her nipples hardened beneath his gaze, suddenly hungry.

Ryoma tore his eyes away with what seemed a great effort, flushing hard. She licked her lips and swallowed. His hand rose to cover the growing arousal at his hips, but it was pointless - she had been watching it swell from the corner of her eye, desire tearing through her body, even as the gravity of the situation remained.

"How- Don't stare, Rouge!" he protested, flushing, sitting up and turning away from her to mask his interest. "Where the hell are our clothes?"

Not staring was impossible; she wanted his body. Rouge forced her gaze away, towards the guards. Her blood thrummed. Their voices were probably loud enough to carry now, but the guards had made no mention of it. "I don't know. Neros has something up his sleeve-"

"Guards, are my prisoners awake?" The Oracle's lilting voice rang down the passage, through the empty cells.

Her blood froze. They exchanged a worried glance. Rouge shuddered, pushing herself to her feet, wobbling slightly. The dizziness still had not fully vanished. Thankfully, her handcuffs had slid up the metal bar to a comfortable height, allowing her to stand. Her braid was a comforting weight against the front of her body. She replaced her arm over her chest. It was hardly enough, but it would have to do. Echoing footsteps sent cold dread crawling into her heart.

"Yes, they are, Sire. Do you require the passage to be lit?"

"That will not be necessary. I will do it myself."

The flicker of another torch glinted off the prison bars, signalling the man's arrival long ahead of himself. Out of the corner of her eye, Rouge saw that Ryoma had risen as well, a little unsteadily, his hands clenched at his sides. Anger flashed in his eyes. They had even bothered to remove the cloth bindings around his forearms and calves.

Neros's appearance was accompanied by the irregular pounding of her heart, as if someone had plucked a short, taut string. He walked slowly along the passage, each placement of his feet loud and ominous, stopping where Rouge had her wrist handcuffed to the thick metal bar. She glared at him. The torch held high taunted her state of undress. His bony features sharpened in the hot, bright light; he looked her over and bared his teeth in a smile.

Her stomach flipped uneasily, but she stood her ground, casting Ryoma a warning glance when he made to come forward. The traitor's oily leer sent ripples of disgust oozing over her skin. "How dare you stoop so low, Neros?"

"My, my. I'm just trying to help, my dear Rouge. As I have told you, your marriage to me will be for the best. You are a tainted woman now, and will only tarnish the city if you dare think of becoming the Oracle."

"I _will_ become the Oracle. All you're doing is forcing our undress in this dark cell. That isn't going to get you anywhere, Neros. We haven't done anything," Rouge spat, wishing she could gouge his beady eyes out with her bare fingers. She gripped the metal cell bar, outrage biting into her middle, testing her restraint to grab him through the bars.

"You never said anything about being the Oracle, Rouge." Ryoma looked at her, his tone edged with hurt. She avoided his gaze, her pulse stumbling. Talking this out in front of Neros wouldn't work well; the man could let slip what they had done the day before.

Neros answered smugly in her place. "That's because she _isn't_ going to become the Oracle, samurai. She will be my _wife_."

She glared at the man venomously. "You're lying. Haven't you seen the future?"

"That's underhanded of you, Neros! Rouge never said she wanted to marry you." Ryoma took a step closer to the metal bars. She heard the tension in his voice, wanted to hold him back before he dealt actual harm to Neros. "I demand that you release us and face me like a real man."

The dark-skinned man ignored them both, his teeth glittering in the glow of the torch. "Come tomorrow, the cage at the Oracle's Temple will be ready. Will there be any doubt once the people see you, my dear? None of the men would want to marry you after such a scandalous display. Only _I_ will prove my honour and take such a disgraced woman as my wife."

"You _what_?" Rouge gaped at him, blinking fiercely, trying to grasp the concept of her and Ryoma in a cage naked, indignity surging in her veins.

"It doesn't matter that the samurai is just a friend. You should be thankful for the _Mamajuana_ the guards have hydrated you with. I don't treat my guests shabbily, you see." Neros laughed, bringing his face close to the metal bars, raising his eyebrows at Rouge. "Don't worry if there isn't enough. I'll have them serve you more at dawn."

She recoiled, her insides twisting. The man's countenance had taken on a lascivious intent. His lips crooked in a smile, and he drew away, shifting his torch to conduct a second appraisal of Ryoma. The latter growled threateningly at him. His grin widened. "Don't disappoint me, samurai."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ryoma retorted, joining Rouge a foot away from the cell bars, his fists clenched. She felt the heat from his body brush her skin. If Neros wasn't here sparking her anger, she might have considered enveloping the swordsman in a hug. "What is _Mamajuana_?"

"You will see," the Oracle volunteered vaguely, turning to leave. "Tomorrow will be your big day, Rouge! I look forward to having you at my side!"

"Your just deserts will be served one day, Neros! I won't marry you!" she shouted after him, letting her hands fall to her sides when the light of his torch was no longer visible from their cell.

The prospect of being stark naked in front of everyone was humiliating, and she wished Ryoma had not been around to have been forced into the same fate. After all, he was without his swords, and the prison bars were too thick to be bent. He was supposed to have an unmarred future without her. Resignation started to crumble her indignity. With a heavy sigh, Rouge turned, the faint dizziness at the back of her mind returning. The cool metal bars met her back, squeaking noisily when she slumped against them and slid down to the hard stone floor, resting the curve of her head between the gap of two bars. The walls stared back at her. Now to think of an escape plan.

"I'm sorry I failed to protect you, Rouge," Ryoma mumbled, crouching down next to her. She started at the touch of his warm fingers on her wrist. He avoided her eyes, looking down at her handcuff, cupping the back of her hand gently. Her heart fluttered at his proximity, his tenderness. "What's the handcuff for? They've already got you in the cell, so you can't possibly go anywhere."

His innocence brought a quirk to her lips; her attention refocused onto him, delighting in his sweaty scent. "So I can't move around in the cell. That way, you wouldn't have to waste your energy chasing me down."

"What for?" He glanced up at her, drawing her gaze. In the unsteady glow of the wall torch, his features gained a keener edge, darkening his eyes and adding a dash of primality to his bearing. She wanted to caress his face and make sure he truly was next to her.

"_Mamajuana_ is a local aphrodisiac, produced by soaking herbs in rum, wine and honey." She held his stare, watching as he absorbed her words, his cheeks darkening. A thrill raced along her nerves. _This_ part of Neros's plot was warmly welcomed. "We were both given a dose of it while unconscious."

"Wh- That's despicable!" The man frowned, his cheeks aflame, turning quickly back to her handcuffs. He braced his hand against her wrist, holding on to the metal curve, gripping the cell bar with his other hand. Rouge observed him as he strained at the metal chain links, trying to break them apart, his muscles tightening. It didn't quite matter that he did not succeed; she stared appreciatively at his strong arms, reaching up to touch his cheek. He froze and reddened further, looking fixedly at his palms.

"Really?" she murmured, catching his chin with her free hand and easing his gaze to hers. He looked reluctantly at her, swallowed. Talking to Ryoma brought about a kind of anticathexis, which dissolved her anger to dull happiness. She did not care that they were locked up - she was with him, and he radiated protection. Her gaze fell lower, to his mouth. He licked his lips. "I don't think we need to be drugged, Ryoma."

"But..." His cheeks were bright red, eliciting a thrill in her heart. There was no doubt as to how thick the tension was between them. She trailed her fingertips softly over his throat, felt the flutter of his pulse. He dragged his gaze away. "I think I have a rough idea how we can get out of this place."

"Whisper it in my ear. Can't have the guards knowing, can we?" A devious smile played on her lips, which was lost on the samurai when he looked at the uneven floor.

He squirmed. She leaned forward, turning her cheek to him. Moments passed before he drew nearer, so close that his warm breath feathered over the shell of her ear. She quivered in anticipation. Her heart thumped, sending blood coursing through her veins. It wasn't often that the man voluntarily came within this distance himself.

_Pop!_

The sound seemed to originate from the guards. Turning instinctively towards the passage, she strained her senses for scraps of their conversation, her ear brushing Ryoma's lips. She heard his breath hitch.

"Not so loud, the Sire might return!"

"He wouldn't, the Sire said he'll be back on the morrow."

"Where did you get that wine?"

"_Shhh!_ The guards on patrol might hear us. There were a few spares from the Sire's latest offering." An uncomfortable chuckle followed. "Now hurry, if you want some of it."

"We'd better not get in trouble for this."

There was silence, then the simultaneous creaking of chairs. Thuds of metal mugs on wood.

"Well, that's going to be useful." Rouge turned back to the samurai, who had also been eavesdropping. He stared uncertainly at her, his face inches away. She offered him her ear. "What were you going to say?"

The man leaned in so close that she thought he might kiss her. "We'll come up with a way to get the guard with the keys here and knock him out. Then we'll release ourselves, knock the other one out, and go."

"Sounds good." It was a far simpler plan than she had expected, one she could have come up with if she had not been distracted by him. Sensing no other suggestion from the man, she shelved the thought at the back of her mind, turning her head slowly before he could pull away. His lips brushed tingles across her cheek. Her heart thudded. His eyes widened, and their mouths met. "I missed you, Ryoma."

His lips were drier than she remembered, but just as warm. This time, there was no fooling around, no teasing, just a few cursory tugs on his lips and a light flick of her tongue against the seam of his mouth. He parted his lips immediately, surprising her, accepting her into his wet heat. She stole the breath from his lips, tasting rum and wine and honey when their tongues met. Perhaps that was the reason for his willingness, but she didn't care, cupping the nape of his neck and holding him to her, pressing closer, urging his lips wider apart in a heated reunion of their tongues. Electricity sparked through her nerves when his silky flesh twined with hers, made her want more. She forgot to breathe; warmth flooded her body at his fervent response, slickened her flesh. Her eyes slipped shut.

They gasped raggedly when she broke the kiss. His dark gaze was intense, unreadable, boring into her depths. Her heart throbbed. His bandaged chest heaved. Rouge let her eye wander down his chest, down his defined abdomen, to his stark arousal. Heat seared into her swollen flesh. She wanted to touch him. Audaciously, she trailed her gaze slowly back up his body, to his face, meeting his eyes. He had been watching her. A quiver fled down her spine.

"Told you we don't need aphrodisiacs," she whispered. He flushed, held her gaze.

Or maybe they did.

Her lips quirked. Rouge turned her shackled hand around, slowly stroking his large, warm palm, tracing the pads of her fingertips over his calloused skin. He drew an audible breath, shivering. It seemed as if he was fighting a battle within himself. Biting down a mischievous smile, she placed a hand on his thigh, slipping it inwards, stroking close to his groin. Staring at his maleness sent more wetness gathering within her core. He shuddered, stared directly at her. "Rouge."

His voice was hoarse, his breathing unsteady. She watched as his shuttered gaze coasted down her front. Her nipples tingled and hardened in response. A slight turn at her waist brought the faintest slivers of light onto her chest. He swallowed.

"Yes?" she purred, pulling his thigh towards her, so that his legs spread, clearly revealing his need. A deep flush rose on his cheeks, but he gave in. She bit back a moan and squirmed. Her breath stumbled in her throat. She wanted him. Badly.

In a move that she cursed herself for, Rouge allowed one finger to trace the ghost of a trail down the groove of his crotch, stroking over him.

"Stop this, Rouge, or I won't be able to hold back," he rasped, clenching his available fist. His cheeks were dark from this intimacy.

"Who said I'd stop?" she breathed, lifting her palm to thread her fingers through his hair. "My body needs you, Ryoma."

Without waiting for an answer, she leaned in and kissed him, her desire flaring when he moaned and allowed her to enter his mouth.

Rouge watched as the flush on his face receded, a fond smile quirking her lips. The samurai glanced at her for a moment, before looking away, his gaze downcast. He withdrew from her. Relishing the last of their friction, she reached out and caught his hand, unwilling to separate from his warmth. He hesitated for heartbeats after she tugged on his fingers, remaining where he was. She eased herself up unsteadily. "Don't be so down."

"I can't, Rouge. I just did that..." The man blushed, avoiding her eyes.

She shifted closer to him, leaning as far as she could. Her heart squeezed at his expression. "Why should you be? I thoroughly enjoyed it."

"It's not right. I shouldn't have succumbed." He blinked in surprise when she stood up.

"Come on now, I'll get one of the guards here, and you'll knock him out. Is that fine with you?" She lifted an eyebrow. He looked up at her and blushed, getting to his feet. It amused her that he fixed his eyes on her face. "Stay close to me, but don't look too questionable."

"Got it." He stepped behind her, away from the glow of light. Due to the small difference in their heights, he was almost concealed enough that it would be too late for the guards to notice his presence.

Rouge turned towards the man, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Her breasts brushed his chest, the bandages rough against her nipples. "Mm."

"Hey!" He gaped at her, stunned.

"After what we've done, that isn't too much of a wrong, is it?" She grinned playfully at him, before turning back to the orange-lit passage, ignoring his protest. "Guards, guards, are you there?"

She felt Ryoma stiffen next to her - the tone she used was sultry, beckoning. When the slurred voices did not pause, she tried again, louder this time. There was a surprised silence.

"What's that... uh, yes, m'lady, I'll be right there!"

Stumbling footsteps echoed down the passage, accompanied by a guard, robed and turbaned, his gait unsteady. Keys jangled at his side. Rouge felt her heart leap, exchanging a secret glance with Ryoma. She pressed herself to the prison bars, careful to push her breasts to visible light, squeezing them around a cold metal bar. The guard approached a little more warily, staring at her chest. She felt a finger of revulsion trace her middle.

"What is it, wench?" He stopped two feet in front of her, eying Ryoma in suspicion, before looking back at her exposed flesh. She wrinkled her nose. The man reeked of alcohol.

"Could you get us more _Mamajuana_? I'd do _anything_ for you in return." She offered a bewitching smile, lowering her lashes. The guard stared, and she extended a hand, palm facing upward, towards his face. His attention slipped to it. "Or we could fulfil my side of the deal first..."

"We don't have no more _Mamajuana_ till tomorrow," the guard mumbled, staring at her as if he was mesmerised. He took a step forward, and she placed a gentle hand on his oily cheek, slowly guiding him forward, till she could reach the back of his head, thanking the gods for not having to touch his hair. The guard dropped his gaze to her breasts. Her stomach roiled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryoma shift, ignoring him till the guard was inches from her face. He lifted his bloodshot eyes to stare at her. Inwardly she winced.

At that last moment, an arm swung out from between the bars next to hers, dealing the guard a swift chop to the back of his neck. Rouge gaped in surprise, watching as the guard's eyes rolled up into his head. He slumped into a heap before her, his face sliding against the metal prison bars. She took a hurried step back.

Ryoma was crouched next to her in an instant, reaching for the guard and turning him over, lifting the keys easily from his robes. The fortune teller watched him dazedly, replaying his actions in her mind. "Ryoma."

"Hmm?" He brought the set of keys up close, looking at them, then at her handcuff, seeming to realise that none of those he had retrieved seemed to fit. His hands sifted through the guard's uniform. A frown crossed his forehead.

"My attacker - the one who brought me to the Oracle's Temple - knocked me out that way too. With a blow to my neck."

His gaze snapped up to hers, pausing in the middle of his search. "Are you sure? That's not a technique from the people here."

"Pretty sure, yes. I came to with my neck feeling a little odd." Rouge lowered herself to the floor, so that the samurai was at eye-level. "There wasn't a sound to be heard before I was knocked unconscious."

"He or she is probably from a martial arts school." He frowned, turning back to the prison guard and resuming his search. "Did you happen to see any foreigners about? I know I didn't."

"I didn't either..." she trailed off, watching as the man finally drew a smaller set of keys out with a triumphant exclamation. The nagging weight on her chest lifted. He took her trapped wrist gently, fitting every metal piece into the keyhole until the lock clicked, releasing her hand. The weight slipping off her wrist induced a delight that sent her flying onto him, almost knocking him to the floor, until he hissed in pain. Rouge released him just as quickly, her stomach dropping by a few notches. She had forgotten about the injuries beneath his bandages. "Sorry about that."

"It doesn't matter. I should be sorry, Rouge. I shouldn't have forced you to leave in the first place. We wouldn't be here otherwise." He watched while she fitted the larger keys into the lock of their cell door. A blush crept up his cheeks. "And I don't ever want to see you doing what you did to the guard again."

"Why? Jealous?" she teased, glancing sideways at him.

"N-no! You're just a special friend." Ryoma looked away. Her heart skipped a beat. After what happened today, though, he had to at least like her to some extent.

"If you say so." The woman smiled to herself, nimbly testing each key until the liberating _click_ sounded. They were finally going to be free of Neros. She swung the door open, raising her eyebrows when Ryoma took the lead, stepping out first.

"I'll take care of the other guard. Stay out of sight till I'm done." He left swiftly, almost prowling in the silent passage, disappearing out of sight.

"Hey! What d'you think-" The next heavy thud sounded.

"Rouge! I've found our clothes, hurry!" At his excited call, she dashed out of the jail cell, putting the gaping, unnerving walls behind her.

The samurai was already drawing a long piece of cloth out of his pile of clothes at a side, fitting it over his loins and twisting it expertly with his hands. She stepped over the unconscious guard gingerly, watching in fascination as he wound it around his waist. "Mm... Wouldn't it be faster if you went without that?"

"Rouge!" He glanced at her cheeky smile in disapproval, frowning lightheartedly. The light flush had returned to his cheeks.

"I mean, after all I've seen of you..." The grin on her lips widened deviously as he blushed bright red. She found her own pile of clothes next to his, slipping the few articles on within minutes while he fiddled with knots and strings. The man gathered the strips of cloth for his forearms and calves, throwing them into his forest-green pouch and slinging it across his back, grabbing his swords.

With a silent look at each other, Ryoma started for the door, Rouge following close behind. She slipped a hand into his, earning herself a frown. The path across the compounds of the disused prison was relatively unhindered. Aside from the single guard they nearly ran into, which ended up with Rouge being sandwiched between Ryoma and a wall, they had come across no one else. It was a bright night, with a full moon hanging high in the sky.

"Where are we going?" Ryoma asked, once they were back on the streets. "You aren't welcome at the Oracle's Temple, and I didn't see your mentor there."

"I've found Ganna, Ryoma. She isn't at the temple because her predictions went wrong, and the people don't trust her anymore. Rouge sighed, wincing when she remembered what her surrogate mother had told her. "That reminds me, how did you know I was being held captive at the temple?"

He squeezed her hand, trying to comfort her. Finding out that her beloved mentor had lost her powers of Sight had to have been a large blow.

They were walking briskly now, turning corners and heading through the city in a specific direction, till the buildings became more sparse, and shrubs took over the landscape. Somehow, Rouge seemed to know where exactly she was going, her gaze straightforward and unfaltering. He followed her with respect, acknowledging that the fortune teller was indeed someone exceptional.

"We'll find out what went wrong. I was at the temple earlier today because Neros wanted to hire my services for a job, and I refused to accept the task."

"What would Neros hire you for?" She stopped a little way outside a shabby building, with a dim light glowing within one window, turning to face him curiously.

"He wanted me to kidnap you." Even admitting to the job he rejected gave him a touch of guilt, because he had been involved in it somehow.

"Oh, Ryoma," she breathed. Her soft hands settled on his cheeks, and he watched her lean in, his heart quickening with their proximity. There wasn't enough light to read her expression when clouds obscured the moon then. Her warm lips pressed lightly to his, almost tenderly. The three heartbeats felt like an eon. Thoughts slipped from his mind. His heart raced. Before he could react, she had pulled away, leaving the trace of a kiss on his lips. Her hand found its way back to his. "Come on. Mistress Ganna is worrying."

In a daze, he followed behind, gingerly touching his mouth. Rouge had just kissed him. It had been different from those she gave him when she was hungry. Rouge had _kissed_ him.

She released his hand again, just before knocking on the door, missing the imperceptible fall in his expression. "Mistress Ganna? It's Rouge. Are you there? I'm so, so sorry for making you worry!"

There was a muffled exclamation behind the door, shortly before footsteps pattered, and the faded wooden panel was cracked open warily. Ganna peeked through the gap, as if to make sure she wasn't imagining them, her dark eyes widening as they flickered from Rouge to the samurai. They were ushered in hurriedly.

"Where did you go, Rouge? I was worried sick about you!" Ganna shut the door and turned, her shorter figure almost dwarfed by both Rouge and Ryoma. The three of them barely fitted into her shack. She looked from her adopted daughter to the man, and back to the former, waiting for an explanation.

"This is Ryoma; Ryoma, Mistress Ganna. Neros sent someone to kidnap me, and I was very fortunate to have Ryoma rescue me from Neros's plans. That was why I was gone so long. You've eaten, haven't you, Mistress Ganna?" Rouge glanced at the man in silent thanks, warning him to leave her reasons as they were. Seeing Ganna's frown now almost made her regret her steamy mating with Ryoma in the cell, even if it was justified due to the time they'd have to wait through for the guards to be sufficiently intoxicated.

The older woman's eyes widened. She took hold of Rouge's hands, squeezing them. "Neros had you kidnapped? Oh heavens, whatever for? Thank you for saving my Rouge, Ryoma."

"It was my duty to." Ryoma lowered his head in a tiny bow. Rouge glanced at him. Was it merely his duty to, or did he want to see her safe?

"Neros wanted to force me to be his wife," she answered with a shudder, watching as her mentor clasped the samurai's hands. Ganna turned and gaped at her.

"Neros wants you as a _wife_? How could he?" Her mentor raised her quavering voice.

"I won't allow him to do that!" Ryoma's eyes flashed at her in the dim glow of the gas lamp. Both women looked at him. Her heart tightened. The samurai flushed and avoided her gaze. "It's... uh, a samurai's duty to protect the innocent!"

"But you're injured, Ryoma. Your wounds might have worsened while you were rescuing me," Rouge blurted, remembering the way he had hovered above her in the cell. Remorse tugged in her chest. She touched his arm, looking at the forming bruise on his cheek. "Your dressings need to be changed."

"You don't have to. I'll manage on my own." He drew away uncomfortably, squirming. Disappointment flickered in her chest.

"Rouge." Ganna interrupted her train of thought. "You must know that if Neros sets his mind on something, he will stop at nothing to get it. He has the power to move many people. By staying here, you are only placing yourself in danger."

"I can't just give up and flee, Mistress Ganna!" She looked at her surrogate mother, aghast. "There are still the problems of the people here to worry about."

"I did not say to give up." The former Oracle looked up at her with tired, wise eyes. "I am old, and can offer no protection should Neros send more men after you. What matters is your safety. Right now, your staying is hardly of help to the people if you are endangered again, and Ryoma will be further injured trying to rescue you."

Rouge bit her lip, the wisdom of Ganna's words hitting home. But what she meant by that was- "You're saying that I have to leave Mahdad for now?"

"Yes. If Ryoma is willing, leave Fireland with him, and return when you are ready." There was no hesitation in Ganna's expression, only faith.

"L-Leave Fireland? Not just Mahdad? Rouge blinked, bewildered. "Aren't you going to disallow my travelling with a man?"

"I trust you, Rouge." Ganna smiled at her, turning to Ryoma. "And I also trust a samurai like you. Rouge told me about what you've done."

The man blushed and laughed awkwardly, looking at the fortune teller. "I- I guess I don't mind."

She met his gaze, guilt welling in her heart. Would Mistress Ganna still allow this if she knew what had transpired between them? It wasn't going to stop here, no. Even if she were to cast all other men aside, she could not keep her hands off Ryoma. She needed his taste and scent and touch.

The old lady's voice drew her back to the present. "You, of all people, will know why you can't stay in Fireland, Rouge. The crystal ball is exact in tracking down locations within a certain area, and Neros knows Fireland as well as we do. Even now, he might have received news that you have escaped." She looked at Ryoma, stricken. "The nearest place you can go is Moonland; it is slightly more than ten miles to the northwest of Mahdad. You'll have to leave immediately. I assume that you're familiar with Moonland, Ryoma?"

"Yes, I am. It's where I came from. How did you guess?"

"That's good. Fighters with your technique hail from Moonland, or so I've heard. I'll prepare some supplies you can take with you." Ganna turned away, bustling around the shack.

Rouge found her gaze slipping back to the man, as if she couldn't get enough of him. He looked so very serious talking to Ganna that she wanted to caress his cheek. Through the large mess of thoughts swirling around Neros, Ganna, Fireland and Moonland, she remembered his wounds. "Sit down, Ryoma. I'll have to change the dressing of your injuries before we leave."

"I can handle them myself-" he protested, looking around the room, as if trying to get away from her.

"Not with my salves, you won't." Rouge narrowed her eyes, grabbing his arm. He followed her reluctantly to one of the chairs in the middle of the room, sitting down with his back to Ganna.

The khaki vest and navy _kimono_ top were hanging from the sash around his waist when she returned with her pouch of salves and herbs. It had been fortunate that she had decided to only bring some coins out a few hours ago. A closer look at Ryoma's bandages brought her lower lip between her teeth. Faint red blossoms had spread through the white cotton gauze. Swiftly, Rouge removed the old bandages, cleaning his scabbed injuries with the cloth and water Ganna had provided.

"How did he sustain such awful wounds?" Her mentor gasped and exclaimed, watching in horror.

"My guess was that the pirates hurled a spiked iron ball at him." Rouge fell silent, concentrating on filling Ryoma's wounds with her salves as she knelt behind him. It felt like a long while ago that she had gripped the chains binding him and screamed his name. He remained still throughout, moving only to bind protective metal plates to the backs of his hands and wrists with strips of cloth. She wondered what he could be thinking.

"You're a very brave warrior, Ryoma." Ganna placed a small pile of provisions on the table, standing to a side and watching as Rouge bandaged his back and shoulders. She missed the quick breath he drew when her adopted daughter crept slow, purposeful fingers across his chest. The middle-aged woman did, however, catch the lingering touch Rouge left on the man's neck, raising an eyebrow. He dipped his head, the vestiges of pink visible in the lamplight.

"I just do the best I can, Mistress Ganna," he mumbled, shrugging his _kimono_ top and vest back on when Rouge patted his uninjured shoulder. The greyed cloth strips from before were wound around his calves and _hakama_ base over the next few minutes.

"Here is some food, Rouge. I've spared what I could. Take them with you on your journey, and do stay safe." The former Oracle embraced her daughter, gazing tenderly at her face.

"I'll make sure to. You did have your dinner while I was gone, didn't you, Mistress Ganna?" Rouge frowned, staring worriedly at her. The older woman brightened suddenly, pulling away to fetch a pot of broth and some bread.

"I did, but I also made sure to prepare more in case you returned. Go on, help yourself. Would you like some too, Ryoma? I'm afraid that this is all I've got."

"You didn't eat did you, Ryoma?" Rouge glanced sharply at him, recalling how he had burst into the temple at sunset.

"I did a little, earlier today." He shifted on his feet sheepishly. As if on cue, his stomach growled.

She shook her head hopelessly and sighed, accepting the food from her mentor, gesturing for him to be seated across from her at the table. He reluctantly did so, refusing to eat until she had had her fill. On her part, Rouge barely took a third of the bread and soup, pushing the rest to him, knowing that he required a far larger portion of sustenance than she did. The samurai promptly polished the meal off, licking his lips.

"That was delicious! You're a great cook, Mistress Ganna!" A smile graced her lips.

"Now hurry and leave, before Neros sets his eyes on you!" Ganna ushered them to the door, making sure that they had taken the provisions with them. "Take care of Rouge, Ryoma."

The former blushed, pressing some coins into her mentor's palm. It had sounded as if Ganna was giving her hand in marriage to Ryoma. "Please accept this, Mistress Ganna. I don't want you to suffer a shortage because of us. Neros won't come after you, will he?"

Seeing the sudden spark of worry that crossed her daughter's eye, Ganna squeezed her hand, accepting the coins. "I will only slow you down, Rouge. You're the one Neros is after. Promise me that you'll be safe."

"I promise, Mistress Ganna. Thank you so much for all that you've done for us." Rouge hugged her mentor tightly on her doorstep, taking a last look at her. Her lips pressed together in veiled disappointment. They had, after all, only been reunited for a day. Ryoma gave his thanks, and they stepped away, casting short shadows on the ground. "Be well."

"Good fortune to you both." Ganna watched as they started off to the northwest, her old shoulders sagging. Rouge had grown more beautiful over the years. She trusted that the samurai would protect her daughter, knew that the city's shadow would fade in time to come. But in the long run, Rouge would have to face her destiny alone. Mahdad needed an Oracle who would look out for its prosperity, instead of one who would be swayed by possessions or a loved one.

* * *

"Rouge." The samurai stared forward as he walked, glancing sideways at her. "Why didn't you tell me that you're going to be the Oracle someday?"

The moon drooped in the sky, enveloping them in its silvery foxfire. Inky black paint stretched across the celestial dome, scattered with the diamonds of the gods. Down below, shrubs and stones peppered their path, leading to the shadow of trees far into the horizon, indicating the border of Moonland.

She dipped her head, thankful that she had not touched him yet. Her heart quickened nervously. He wasn't going to be happy with her answer. "I... Remember how I told you that the Oracle is supposed to be upright and virginal?"

"You couldn't have-" He stopped, turning to stare at her in horror. "Rouge!"

The woman bit her lip hard, drawing to a halt before him, avoiding his eyes. "I couldn't tell you because I wanted you, Ryoma. You would have refused me."

"Damn right I would! And now I've tarnished you, Rouge. Was that your goal all along?" She could hear the raw emotion in his voice, knew she had betrayed him somehow. It felt as if the air had thickened suddenly. She couldn't breathe. The gaze fixed on her hurt.

"It was my motive at first, yes. But-" she cut him off just as be began to speak again, her pounding heart threatening to blend her words into a ruined mess. "-Things are different now! You didn't tarnish me because I wasn't even a virgin when I met you!"

The silence that settled was a razor against her skin. Perhaps this was where everything fell apart. She was a liar, she made use of him, she had no morals.

"Am I just someone you're having a fling with?" His voice was icy; she wished he thought her worthy of the whisper buried in the shadows of the prison cell. Her heart throbbed miserably.

"Didn't I just tell you? Things have changed. You aren't just that to me now." But she could not possibly admit it. What she felt for him went against the next rule of being an Oracle.

"What am I to you?"

"You are... someone important to me. I don't kiss friends, Ryoma." If she told him how much she liked him, he might turn and leave. She could not have him walk away in this place, could not have him walk out of her life. The thought that she would have to lose him now scared her, made her chest squeeze. A dry sob left her lips.

"You kiss people you have flings with." He sounded disbelieving. Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, swallowing, breathing unsteadily. The hurt shining in his eyes made her regret looking up from the packed dirt ground. Rouge wished she could caress his pain away; knowing she had caused it stung badly.

"Not that last one with you, I don't. You're special to me. I don't care about the people who came before you." It was lonely out here, without even Ryoma's friendship. Yet, with each confession she made, she was more vulnerable to his attacks. It was strange how she allowed him the risk of tearing pieces away from her, if only to regain his trust. There was a flicker in his eyes, which perhaps showed that her words might be getting through.

"Do you tell that to everyone you sleep with?" The distrust sliced anew. She couldn't understand why she felt so hurt, why she couldn't stand losing his faith so much. All that seemed to be happening was the man slipping away from her reach. Heat prickled at the back of her eyes. _Not again._

Her feet were blocks of lead in the moment she stepped towards him. Her throat had sealed up, trapping the words she wanted to convey. "I'm not allowed to admit that I like you, Ryoma," she whispered. "I didn't know I could feel this way."

The tears welled up then, and she looked away, dashed them off with her fingers so he would not be affected by them. When that didn't help, she turned around, faced her back to him, shut her eyes so he could not see how her control had lapsed. There was no point to crying. Taking deep breaths, she tried to suppress her emotions, pushing thoughts of the samurai out of her mind.

There was a light touch on her arm. She froze, sobbing once, vigorously drying her eyes. She could feel Ryoma's warmth behind her, and her heart ached for it.

"I think I believe you, Rouge," he murmured, lifting his fingers off awkwardly. It sent a flare of hope within her chest. She tried to ignore it.

"I told you not to trust me." Her voice sounded thick and hoarse. If Ryoma was any smarter, he would be miles away from her.

"I do still trust you. You're a special friend." His tone was gentler now, kinder. Her heart fluttered. She started to turn towards him, wishing she could just collapse into his warmth.

"Am I forgiven?" She bit her lip and stared at his chest.

"I should be sorry. I assumed too many things about you, Rouge." Only then did she dare look up into his eyes, meeting his softened gaze. Her heart warmed, squeezed painfully in her chest. Rouge found that she could not look away. He was more handsome than she remembered him to be.

"Could- Could we pretend that my future doesn't exist till we return to Fireland?" she whispered, hoping that he would not come to his senses. Her pulse thudded. With an excruciating slowness, he nodded, imperceptibly.

Rouge could not tell if she was happier or more grateful, holding her breath and easing close, afraid that he would suddenly shatter. Ryoma did not recoil; her mouth slanted over his, meeting him with the same tenderness as before. His lips were soft and warm. Thrills ran down her nerves at the contact. She wanted to lose herself in the kiss, but forced herself to pull away instead, hesitantly meeting his gaze.

There was the hint of a blush on his cheeks. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards, and she slid her hand into his, giving him a squeeze.

He began walking with her wordlessly, his hold on her hand firm and warm.


End file.
